
























































I 


sots' 


RECOLLECTIONS 

OF 

MIRABEAU. 


NEW PUBLICATIONS, 


French Edition of 
DUMONT’S MIRABEAU, &c. 9s. 
i. 

SOUVENIRS SUR MIRABEAU. 

By ETIENNE DUMONT, of Geneva. 

“ It abounds with the most important and interest¬ 
ing details.“—Times 

“ The most amusing and instructive volume that 
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its place amongst the most valuable records.”— 

Quarterly Review. 

II. 

LIFE OF FRANCIS THE FIRST. 

By JAMES BACON, Esq. 

A New Edition, with Additions. 2 vols. 8vo. 

“ A most full and animated account of Francis, a 
most chivalrous Monarch,”—Literary Gazette, 

III. 

GEOGRAPHICAL ANNUAL, 

1832. 

Containing 100 Steel Engravings. Price, 
plain 18s.; finely coloured, 21s. A new is¬ 
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fect picture of elegance.”—Literary Gazette. 

IV. 

THE ROMANCE OF HISTORY. 

The New Edition, uniform with the Wa- 
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ENGLAND, FRANCE, ITALY, and 
SPAIN, 

At only 6s. per volume neatly bound. 

To be had in complete sets or separate 
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LIVES of the ITALIAN POETS. 

By the Kev. HENRY STEBBING. 
Second Edition, with numerous additions, 
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Foscolo. 3 vols. 

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NOVELS BY DISTINGUISHED WRITERS. 

I. 

CHANTILLY. 

Dedicated to the Princess Louise d'Orleans. 

In 3 vols, 

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Lammermuir.’ ”—Athenaeum 

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which is the great charm of ‘ The Canterbury Tales.’” 

—Literary Gazette. 

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that of ‘ Guy Mannering.’”—Atlas. 

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THE ROBBER. 

By the Author of ‘ Chartley the Fatalist.* 
3 vols. 

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By the Author of * Gertrude.’ 3 vols. 

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sparkling anecdote.”—Belle Assemblee. 

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son.”—Metropolitan. 

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RECOLLECTIONS 


OF 


MIRABEAU, 


AND OF 


THE TWO FIRST 

LEGISLATIVE ASSEMBLIES 


\ 


FRANCE. 



BY ETIENNE DUMONT, 


OF GENEVA. 


LONDON: 

EDWARD BULL, HOLLES STREET. 


1832. 




f* »l 

0 





JS>J 


* <\ 

-A 


LONDON: G. SCHULZE, 13, POLAND STREET 



CONTENTS. 


Page 

Preface by the English Editor. ... . xiii 

Preface by the Genevese Editor. ..... xix 


CHAPTER I. 

Motives which induced the author to write these Recollec¬ 
tions—The revolution of Geneva in 1789, determines his 
departure for Paris with M. Duroverai—Desire of taking 
advantage of M. Necker’s return to office to do something 
in favour of the Genvese exiles—Origin of the author’s ac¬ 
quaintance with Mirabeau—Journey to Paris with Sir Samuel 
Romilly in 1788—Mirabeau’s residence in England in 
1784 —His activity and industry as a writer—His reputa¬ 
tion at Paris in 1788—First interview with Mirabeau— 


a 



11 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

Some traits of his private character—His work on the 
Prussian monarchy—Major Mauvillon the principal author 
—-Quarrel between M. de Calonne and M. Necker about the 
deficit —M. Necker’s answer—Mirabeau forms the project 
of replying—Why he abandons it—Visit to Bicetre and 
the Salpetri&re—Romilly writes an energetic description 
of them—Mirabeau translates it—Discussion between Mi¬ 
rabeau, de Bourges and Claviere—Dupont de Nemours— 
Anecdotes—Champfort—A saying of Mirabeau on Champ- 
fort— General feeling in polite circles at Paris—Some 
traits of the private character of Sir Samuel Romilly— 

Note given to the author by Mirabeau. 


CHAPTER II. 


Journey from London to Paris in 1789—Elections of deputies 
at the bailliages —Regulations for the election, made whilst 
breakfasting at Montreuil-sur-Mer—Success of these re¬ 
gulations—Interview with M. Necker—Residence at Cla- 
viere’s at Surene—Committees at Clavi&re’s and Brissot’s 
—The Duke de la Rochefoucauld—Confusion of ideas at 
this period—Saying of Lauraguais—Right of representa¬ 
tion claimed by Palissot—Assembly of the sections—Diffi¬ 
culty of proceeding—Assembly of electors—M. Duval- 
d’Espremenil—M. de Lauraguais, bourgeois of Paris— 
Opening of the states-general—Aspect of the tiers-etat — 
Reflection upon the verification of the powers. . .24 


CONTENTS. 


Ill 


CHAPTER II I. 


How Mirabeau was situated in the assembly, on the opening 
of the states-general—His bitterness against the assembly 
—Conversations on this subject—The author engages him 
to be more moderate—Intimacy between Mirabeau and 
Duroverai — Little committees — Duroverai’s plan for 
bringing Necker and Mirabeau together—Adopted by 
Mallouet—Difficulty of an interview—It takes place— 
Mirabeau’s saying on Necker—Embassy to Constantinople 
—Ottoman Encyclopaedia—Mirabeau’s first triumph at the 
tribune—Debut of Robespierre—Effect of his speech— 
Saying of M. Reybaz concerning him—Sieyes, his charac¬ 
ter and habits—The Bishop of Chartres—Anecdotes of this 
prelate.. . .38 


CHAPTER IV. 

Inaction of the tiers during the disputes of the orders—Its 
effect upon the public—Motion of Sieyes upon the title of 
the assembly—Title of national assembly proposed—This 
question debated between the author, Duroverai and Mira- 
Ijeau—The latter determines to oppose this title—Speech 
written by the author in the hall of the assembly—Mira¬ 
beau adopts it—Its effect upon the assembly—Author’s 
anxiety—Sieyes’ motion carried—Its effect—Duroverai 
forms the plan of a royal session—Mallouet undertakes to 



IV 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

communicate it to Necker—This plan concealed from Mi- 
rabeau—It is spoiled by the influence of the court party— 
Royal session—Its effect upon the assembly and the public 
—Reflections—Circumstance which determined Necker to 
absent himself—Mirabeau’s anger against Duroverai— 
What he thinks of Necker—His opinion upon the session. 59 


CHAPTER V. 

Agitation of the people after the royal session—Cause of this 
agitation—Saying of Sieves on the Breton club—Attitude 
of the Court—Arrival of troops—Mirabeau’s speech—Ad¬ 
dress to the King.—Mirabeau undertakes to write it— 
Confides this task to the author—Anecdote—General un¬ 
easiness—Supposed projects of the court—Mirabeau fears 
being arrested—Character of the King on his arrival— 
Death of the Marquis de Mirabeau—Work upon the 
events of the revolution. . . . . . .81 


CHAPTER VI. 

Courrier de Provence —Its origin—Partnership between the 
author, Duroverai, and Mirabeau—Success of this journal 
—Negligence and dishonesty of the bookseller—Annoy¬ 
ances—Embarrassment of Mirabeau—His connexion with 
Madame le Jay—The journal has a new editor—It begins 
to fall—New arrangements—Judgments upon the Courrier 
de Provence —What ultimately became of it . . • 97 


CONTENTS. 


V 


CHAPTER VII. 


Tage 

Complete union of the orders—Aspect of the assembly— 
Address to the people—Mirabeau requests the author to 
write it—Cause of its want of success—Weakness of the 
assembly regarding the tumults—Fear and mistrust of the 
government—Cause of it—General opinion in favour of 
the revolution—Causes which led to an alteration in their 
opinion—Work of Burke—Declaration of the rights of man 
—Discussion—Opinion of the author and of Mirabeau on 
this subject—Sitting of the 4th of August—Reflection upon 
it—Anger of Sieyes—His opinion—That of Mirabeau upon 
the assembly—Effect of this sitting upon the people . 106 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Discussion upon the veto —Marquis de Caseaux and his 
speech—Difficulties of Mirabeau in reading it—Anecdote 
—Public opinion—Improper mode of proceeding in the 
assembly—Impatience of showing off—Love of making 
motions—Some traits of French character—Compared 
with the English—Regulations by Romilly—Rejected by the 
assembly—Opinion of Brissot, Sieyes, &c. upon England— 
Saying of Duroverai—Mirabeau applies it to Mounier . 122 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Page 

Camille Desmoulins—La Clos—His connexion with Mirabeau 
—Was Mirabeau acting in concert with the Duke of Or¬ 
leans ?—Facts for and against—Translation from Milton 
against royalty — Duroverai prevents its pubbcation— 
Saying of Mirabeau upon the events of Paris — His 
conduct on the 4 th and 5 th of October—Aspect of the 
interior of the assembly—Anecdotes—Desertion of several 
deputies . . . . . • . .. .135 


CHAPTER X. 


Discussion upon finances—Mirabeau’s reasons for supporting 
M. Necker—Effect of his speech—Singular compliment paid 
to Mirabeau by Mole—Address to the nation—Mirabeau 
confides to the author the task of writing it—Want of suc¬ 
cess of this address —Mirabeau proposes a vote of thanks to 
Lafayette and Bailly—What determined him—Project for 
bringing Mirabeau into office — Motion to prevent it— 
Civic inscription—Proposal of Sieyes—Mirabeau brings it 
forward—Law concerning bankrupts—Martial law . .151 


CONTENTS. 


Vll 


CHAPTER XI. 


Connexion of Mirabeau with the court—Confidence on this 
subject—Plan of a counter-revolution by Mirabeau—King’s 
departure—Basis of the plan—Appeal to the nation— 
Decrees of the assembly annulled—Immediate convocation 
of another assembly— Surprize of the author—His resolu¬ 
tion—Conversation and discussion of the plan—Mirabeau 
promises to renounce it—Another mode is adopted—’The 
Marquis de Favras—His trial—Uneasiness of Mirabeau 
—Discussion on church property—Pelin author of Mira- 
beau’s speeches on this subject—His connexion with Mira¬ 
beau—Anecdotes ....... 


CHAPTER XII. 

Mirabeau’s habits changed—His house—Luxury—Expenses 
—He Refuses to take his father’s title—Receives 20,000 
francs a month—His connexion with Prince Louis d’Arem- 
berg—Quarrel between Mirabeau, Claviere and Durove- 
rai—The author reconciles them—Gradual election—Idea 
of the author—Mirabeau’s motion—Barnave opposes it 
—Mirabeau abandons it—Reflections .... 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Page 


165 


184 


Author’s departure—Motives—Barrere—Barnave —Petion 
—Target—Mallouet — Volney—Robespierre—Morellet— 


CONTENTS. 


viii 

Page 

Necker—Champfort—Return to Paris with Achille Ducha- 
telet—His character—Anecdotes—Conversation with Mi- 
rabeau—His connexion with the Queen—He directs the 
court party—Report of diplomatic committee—Author’s 
share in it—Anecdote—Increased expense in Mirabeau’s 
style of living—Remark of the author—The Abbd La- 
mourette—Mirabeau president of the assembly—Opinion 
thereon—Mirabeau’s ill health—His forebodings—Emo¬ 
tion on taking leave of the author—He prophecies on the 
fate of France—His death. . . . . . .196 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Private life of Mirabeau—Anecdote on his marriage—Cor¬ 
respondence with Madame Mounier—How he wrote it— 
Portrait of Mirabeau—Considered as an author—Distinctive 
characteristic of his writings—As a political author—His 
good qualities—Defects—Compared with Fox, with Bar- 
nave—His private habits—As member of the assembly— 
Venality—Saying on this subject—Despair at not enjoying 
a spotless reputation—His vanity—Saying of the author— 
Public character of Mirabeau—His object—Designs— 
Cause of their failure—Characteristic trait of his genius— 
Political sagacity—Powers of prophecy—Knowledge of 
mankind . . . . . . . . .218 


CHAPTER XV. 


Detached anecdotes—Mirabeau’s habit of giving nicknames— 
How he designated Sieyes, d’Espremenil, Lafayette, 



CONTENTS. 


IX 


Page 

Necker, Clavi£re—His opinion of Washington—Saying 
concerning the assembly—Annoyance at praise bestowed 
upon mediocrity—Saying of the author on this subject 
—Viscount de Mirabeau—Laughable answer—Personal 
courage of Mirabeau—Adored by his domestics—Visit to 
the Bastille—His friendship for Cabanis—Cause of his 
death—Last moments—Legacy to the assembly—Activity 
—Hopes of becoming minister . . . . .240 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Author’s return to Paris—Flight of the King to Varennes— 
Aspect of the assembly—Effect of the King’s flight upon 
the people—Shade of Mirabeau—Project of a paper—Its 
object—Why renounced—Paine at Paris—Confidence of 
Duchatelet—Placard in favour of the republic—Condorcet 
becomes a republican—Claviere, Brissot, Petion, &c. dis¬ 
cuss the question—Origin of this opinion—Condorcet’s 
motives and influence—Lameth, Bamave, &c. join the 
King—The author returns to London with Paine—Opi¬ 
nion on this writer—Details given by d’Andre on the as¬ 
sembly—His complaints—Reflections—Supposed dialogue 
between d’Andr6 and his servant, recited by Sieyes. . . 257 


CHAPTER XVII. 


General reflections on the revolution — Its causes—Nine 
causes of the faults of the assembly—Heterogeneous com- 


X 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

position—Bad mode of carrying on proceedings. Immu¬ 
tability of constitutional decrees—Fear of a counter-revo¬ 
lution—Emigration—Affiliation and institution of the Ja¬ 
cobins—Wrong measures of the court party, &c.—Causes of 
the fall of the constitution—Unity of the assembly—Ab¬ 
solute independence—Ineligibility of the members of the first 
assembly to the second—Immutability of the constitutional 
laws—Opinion on the national assembly—Author regrets 
his want of memory and curiosity. . . . .276 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Arrival of Petion in London—Object of his journey—How 
accomplished — D’Andre— His character — His talents— 
Persecuted by Brissot—Some particulars concerning Bris- 
sot’s character—Talleyrand—Anecdotes—Object in com¬ 
ing to London—Reception by the King and Queen- 
Author returns to Paris—Reasons—Accompanies Talley¬ 
rand and Duroverai. . . . . . .291 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Arrival at Paris—Conversation with Talleyrand—Anecdote 
on the consecration of the clergy—Aspect of the legisla¬ 
tive assembly—Divided into three Parties—The King 
governed by the Feuillans—Girondists—Their object— 

M. de Lessart—Impeachment by Brissot—Author re¬ 
proaches Brissot—Reflections—De Graves—Anecdotes— 
Author secretly consulted on the choice of a war minister 


CONTENTS. 


XI 


Page 

—Speech to bring the Girondists into power, made by 
Gensonne—Petion’s speeches—Vergniaud—Guadet—Gen- 
sonn6—Buzot—Rcederer—Condorcet.303 

CHAPTER XX. 

The author taken to Roland’s—Character of the latter— 
Madame Roland—Memoirs —Servan—Louvet—Lanthe- 
nas—Pache—Clavi&re is appointed minister—His life and 
character—His ambition—Activity—Madame Clavi&re— 

Her illness—Cause of recovery—Legislative assembly and 
Girondists. . . . » . . . .324 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Declaration of war against Austria—Reticences in the me¬ 
moirs of Dumouriez—Austrian committee—Brissot desi¬ 
rous of war—Duchatelet refutes the objection of the de¬ 
sertion of old officers—Dinners at Claviere’s and Dumou- 
riez’s—Gaiety of Louvet and Dumouriez—The latter com¬ 
municates to the author his report on the war—Condor- 
cet’s weakness—Appointment of an embassy to England 
—Talleyrand—Chauvelin — Hesitation — Dumouriez puts 
an end to them—Garat—Embassy badly received in Lon¬ 
don—Pitt and Chauvelin—The embassy at Ranelagh— 

The public shun them—The Duke of Orleans. . .338 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Object of the embassy—Maintenance of peace—Work of Ga¬ 
rat—10th of August—Talleyrand goes to Paris—Presses 



Xll 


CONTEXTS. 


Page 

the author to accompanying him—Refusal—Motives— 

The Genevese government request him to proceed to Paris 
—Army at the gates of Geneva—Montesquiou —Travels 
with an Irish quaker who is come to France to make prose¬ 
lytes—Arrival at Paris—The author determines Brissot 
and Claviere to support the Genevese treaty—Gasc sent 
by the republic—Dinner at Claviere’s—Lebrun’s ode— 
Secret confided to the author by Gensonne—Intrigues by 


Grenus—The author proceeds to Geneva. . . .360 

Appendix. ... . .... 379 



PREFACE 


BY THE 


ENGLISH EDITOR- 


There is no public character whose actions 
have been more the subject of misrepresentation, 
and over whom calumny has had greater sway, 
than the Count de Mirabeau. He is known in 
this country rather as one of the most profligate 
promoters of the French revolution, than as the 
most extraordinary man of his age, in those sur¬ 
passing endowments of mind in which he far 
surpassed all the great luminaries of that 
brilliant period; and it has been reserved for 

b 



XIV 


PREFACE 


Dumont, a man of high character and unsullied 
principles, to rescue his name from the blind 
obloquy by which it has been so long and so 
unjustly obscured. 

With all his vices, and they were by no means 
few, Mirabeau had many redeeming qualities. 
The former have been exaggerated with all the 
virulence of party hatred, while the latter have 
been concealed with equal malignity. This is 
unjust. A man, whatever be his errors, should 
go to posterity with the benefit of his good as 
well as the odium of his evil qualities. 

In these Recollections, Dumont, the friend of 
Mirabeau, has concealed nothing, nor has he 
“ set down aught in malice.” He has not shrunk 
from the task of exposing the blemishes of a 
master-mind, at the same time that he exhibits 
the splendour of its superior endowments. He 
has candidly stated Mirabeau’s good and bad 
qualities without disguise, and while it will ap¬ 
pear that there is much to despise, it will be 
found that upon the whole, there is perhaps more 
to admire. Justice has been rendered to an 
erring but illustrious man. 

With all his vices, Mirabeau was an ardent 
patriot. The good of his country was mingled even 


BY" THE ENGLISH EDITOR. 


XV 


with his dying aspirations, and the love of France 
ceased in his heart, but with his last breath. 
His great powers of intellect and transcendant 
eloquence maintained his popularity through all 
the fluctuating changes attendant upon one of the 
greatest political convulsions, ever recorded in 
history; and by the ascendency of his energetic 
mind, he awed Robespierre and the jacobin 
anarchists into harmless insignificance. Had his 
life been spared, there is no doubt that the 
French revolution would have taken another 
direction, and the horrible excesses of the reign 
of terror never have blackened the page of French 
political regeneration. His death was the knell 
of the French monarchy;—the glory of a long 
line of Kings was buried in the grave of Mira- 
beau. 

Dumont’s Recollections contain the most va¬ 
luable materials for history. Facts hitherto un¬ 
known, the secret causes of many of those great 
and surprizing events which have puzzled the 
acutest research of the historian, are laid open. 
However we may regret that the work remains 
unfinished, we cannot but be thankful for the 
abundance of information supplied by these Re¬ 
collections, every page of which is of momen- 

b 2 


XVI 


PREFACE 


tous interest. Our regret arises from the very 
perfection of the work even in its unfinished 
state ; and had Dumont found leisure to fill up 
the periods connecting its different parts* and to 
give his promised account of the revolutions of 
Geneva, subsequent to that of 1789, and in 
which he was himself an actor, this volume 
would form the completest compendium of the 
French revolution ever given to the public. 

In reflecting upon the events contained in this 
book, the philosophic mind cannot but be forci¬ 
bly struck with the disproportion between causes 
and effects in political convulsions, when 
once the edifice of the state has begun to totter 
upon its foundations. On these occasions, the most 
insignificant circumstance, like the chance spark 
which, unperceived may slowly spread its latent 
flame and ultimately destroy the noblest edifice, 
often leads to astounding results, even to the ruin 
of states and the overthrow of empires. Such 
was the case in France ;—and such will be the 
case in all revolutions proceeding from the same 
causes. It is a lamentable fact that govern¬ 
ments founded upon the barbarous remains of 
feudality—and most governments of modern ages 
are in this predicament—naturally divide the 


BY THE ENGLISH EDITOR. Xvii 

state into two classes, whose hostility to each 
other is instinctive. A few privileged indivi¬ 
duals hold the reins of power and for their own 
interest and advantage, oppress the great mass 
of the people. When at length, the latter dis¬ 
cover and claim their just rights, those rights 
should be fairly and frankly admitted, otherwise 
the authority by whom they are withheld must 
ultimately, even in the absence of tumult and 
bloodshed, be crushed by the inert preponde¬ 
rance alone of the discontented mass of the 
population. Had this self-evident principle been 
admitted by the blind and bigotted aristocracy of 
France, no convulsions would have taken place, 
nor the freedom of the French people have been 
cemented with blood. 

The inveterate and unjust prejudices of the 
nobles, and more particularly of the members of 
the Royal Family—which even five and twenty 
years of misfortune and exile could not eradicate 
—led immediately to those first excesses which 
shewed the people their strength and betrayed 
the weakness of the government. It is singular 
that neither the fruits of experience, nor the 
pangs of personal suffering, can rectify the 
warpings of the human mind ; and in the feelings 


XViii PREFACE BY THE ENGLISH EDITOR. 

which in 1789, induced the Count d’Artois to 
convert the conciliatory object of the royal ses¬ 
sion into the immediate cause of the first revolu¬ 
tionary insurrections, may be traced the same 
spirit of bigotry, which in 1830, led him, as 
Charles X, to issue the ordinances by which he 
lost his crown. 

Numerous other examples might be adduced 
which would form a collection of valuable les¬ 
sons for Kings and statesmen. But alas ! man 
profits not by the experience of others—often¬ 
times not by his own ; and it is not until we 
have obstinately and wickedly brought on the 
evil, that we choose, amid the pangs of tardy, 
and useless repentance, to open our eyes to 
truth! 

In offering Dumont’s ideas to the public in an 
English garb, it only remains for the English 
Editor to add that his sole aim has been to give 
the author’s meaning with clearness and preci¬ 
sion. If he has failed, it is not from want of 
zeal and attention. 

G. H. C. 


London, 29th March, 1832. 


PREFACE 


BY THE 

GENEVESE EDITOR. 


It is not my intention to write a biographical 
notice of M. Etienne Dumont. Two illu¬ 
strious authors, M. de Candolle and M. de Sis- 
mondi, have already paid their tribute of admi¬ 
ration to the memory of their departed friend and 
fellow-countryman. I cannot do better than 
refer the reader to the Bibliothbque universelle ,* 
and the Revue encycloptdique^ in which they 
have deposited, with all the warmth of friendship, 

* Bibliotheque universelle , November 1829* 
t Revue encycloptfdique, vol. 44, p. 258. 



XX 


PREFACE 


the expression of their regret at the loss which 
our country, science, and literature have just 
sustained. 

To render, however, the present work more 
intelligible, it is necessary that I should trace, 
in as rapid a sketch as possible, the principal 
circumstances of the author’s life, especially 
those preceding the period to which the work 
alludes. When I have explained his connexion 
with politics and political men, long before 1789, 
and the rank which he has since held in the lite¬ 
rary world, it will be more easy to understand 
how he, a stranger to France and to the great acts 
of the French revolution, should have been able to 
relate facts hitherto unknown, and have acquired 
a right of passing judgment upon men and events. 

M. Etienne Dumont, of Geneva, spent the 
early part of his life in his native country, where 
his talents as a preacher gained him well de¬ 
served renown. In 1783, he left Geneva, in 
consequence of its political troubles, and went 
to St. Petersburgh to join some members of his 
family who had settled there. During a resi¬ 
dence of eighteen months in this city, he was 
equally successful, and obtained the high con¬ 
sideration due to his merit and noble character. 


BY THE GENEVESE EDITOR. 


XXI 


He left St. Petersburgh in 1785, and went to 
London to reside with Lord Shelburne, then a 
minister of state, who confided to him the general 
education of his sons. Lord Shelburne, after¬ 
wards Marquis of Lansdowne, soon discovered 
the great talents of M. Dumont, whom he made 
his friend. It was in the house of this minister 
that he became acquainted with some of the most 
illustrious men of the country; and amongst 
others, with Sheridan, Fox, Lord Holland, Sir 
Samuel Romilly and Mr. Brougham, then 
a barrister, now Lord High Chancellor of Eng¬ 
land. 

His connexion with these distinguished in¬ 
dividuals, founded upon friendship, similarity 
of opinions and literary occupations, and the 
pursuit of great objects of public utility, 
gave them full opportunities of appreciating his 
high worth. He was generally known to be a 
man of profound knowledge, correct judgment, 
irreprochable character, and lively and brilliant 
wit. Each did him justice during his life, and 
they who have survived him continue to honor 
his memory. 

He formed a very particular intimacy with Sir 
Samuel Romilly, a man equally distinguished 


XXII 


PREFACE 


by his private virtues and his great talents as a 
lawyer and a political orator. The friendship 
which united these two men, increased daily, 
nor did its activity cease till the death of Sir 
Samuel Romilly. M. Dumont was inconsola¬ 
ble for this loss, and never mentioned his de¬ 
parted friend without tears. 

In 1788, they undertook a journey to Paris 
together, and it was under Sir Samuel Romilly’s 
auspices that M. Dumont first became acquainted 
with Mirabeau. During a sojourn of two months 
in the French capital, he saw the latter every 
day, and a certain affinity of talents and intel¬ 
lect led to an ultimate connexion between two 
men so opposed to each other in habits and cha ¬ 
racter. It was on his return from Paris, that 
Dumont began his acquaintance with the cele¬ 
brated Bentham, which had so complete an in¬ 
fluence over his future opinions and writings, and 
fixed, as it were, his career as a writer on le¬ 
gislation. 

Dumont penetrated with a lively admiration 
for the genius of this extraordinary man, and 
profoundly struck with the truth of his theory 
and the consequences to which it so' natu¬ 
rally led, applied all his talents to make the 


BY THE GENEVESE EDITOR. 


XXlll 


writings of the English publicist known, and de¬ 
voted the greater part of his life in rendering 
available to the world at large, the exhaustless 
store of knowledge which the ever active genius 
of Mr. Bentham was always increasing.* 

In 1789, M. Dumont suspended his labors in 
England to proceed to Paris with M. Duroverai 
ex-attorney-general of the republic of Geneva. 
The object of this journey was to obtain, through 
the return of M. Necker to office, and the events 
then passing in France, an unrestricted restora¬ 
tion of Genevese liberty, by cancelling the treaty 
of guarantee between France and Switzerland, 
which prevented the republic from enacting new 
laws without the consent of the parties to this 
treaty. The necessary steps to which this mis¬ 
sion gave rise, brought M. Dumont into connexion 
with most of the leading men in the constituant 


* The following works are the result of this labour: 1° Trea¬ 
tises on legislation, published in 18*22, in 3 vols. 8vo. now in 
their third edition; 2° Theory of punishments and rewards, 2 vols. 
8vo. also in its third edition ; 3 ° Tactics of legislative assemblies, 
two editions, 1815 and 182 2 ; 4° Judicial evidence, published in 
1823, and a second edition in 1830 ; 5® Judicial organization and 
codification, 1 vol. published in 18 28. I do not here mention the 
numerous editions published in foreign countries. 


XXIV 


PREFACE 


assembly and made him an interested spectator, 
sometimes a participator in the events of the 
French revolution. 

The importance of the changes about to be 
operated, and the immense interest which this 
period inspired, determined M. Dumont to follow 
closely the course of events. Like all the other 
generous and elevated minds in Europe, he 
offered up his vows for the realization of the 
great hopes to which the first proceedings of the 
national assembly had given rise, and was desi¬ 
rous of assisting at occurrences which he consi¬ 
dered the forerunners of a new political era. His 
former acquaintance with Mirabeau was renewed 
immediately after his return to Paris, and it con¬ 
tributed to prolong his residence in France, 
during which he co-operated in many of the 
works of that celebrated man ;* but being after¬ 
wards attacked in pamphlets and other periodi¬ 
cals as one of Mirabeau’s writers, he felt much 
hurt at his name being mentioned publicly, and 
determined to return to England. The reputa¬ 
tion of being a subaltern writer was, as he him- 

* As a justification of what I here advance and which is stated 
by M. Dumont himself, 1 refer the reader to the facsimile of 
Mirabeau’s correspondence with him, at the end of the volume. 


BY THE GENEVESE EDITOR. 


XXV 


self states, by no means flattering, and that of 
an influential connexion with a man whose cha¬ 
racter was not untainted, alarmed his delicacy. 
From that period he sedulously employed his time 
in preparing Mr. Bentham’s manuscripts for pu¬ 
blication. 

In 1814, the restoration of Geneva to inde¬ 
pendence, induced M. Dumont to return to that 
city, which, subsequently, he never quitted 
for any length of time. Until 1829, he de¬ 
voted his talents to his country, to which he 
rendered very eminent services. It would be 
a work of supererrogation to recall his claims 
to the gratitude of his fellow-citizens. Ail 
know and acknowledge how much they are in¬ 
debted to his patriotism and devotion ; and to 
the general mass of readers such details would 
present but little interest. In the autumn of 
1829, he undertook a tour of pleasure to the 
north of Italy in company with one of his friends, 
M. Bellamy Aubert;* and his family were im- 

* I cannot suffer this opportunity to pass without publicly ex¬ 
pressing the gratitude entertained by M. Dumont’s family towards 
M. Bellamy Aubert, whose active friendship and affectionate atten¬ 
tions soothed the last moments of his friend. This consolatory 
circumstance, in so painful an event, can alone in some degree 


XXVi PREFACE 

patiently expecting his return, when they re¬ 
ceived the news of his death. They who were 
intimate with him can alone appreciate the charm 
which his goodness of heart, his active benevo¬ 
lence. and his great talents threw around him. 
He loved to encourage youth, and could make 
himself the companion of all who approached him. 
Men of all ages and professions were sure to find, 
in his inexhaustible kindness and remarkable 
conversation, interest, advice, information and 
pleasure. 

Among the many unpublished works which M. 
Dumont’s friendship, much more than his thirst 
for renown, confided to my care, 1 have selected 
for publication, in preference to any other, the 
one which appeared to me the best calculated 
to make him known in a literary capacity dif¬ 
ferent from that upon which he founded his 
honorable fame. It also appeared to me that 
a work, like the present, would diminish in va¬ 
lue. in proportion to the distance of its publi¬ 
cation from the events it records and the persons 
whom it makes known. This work, besides, 

assuage the grief produced by a death so unexpected, which at 
a distance from his family and country, carried off a man in 
whose heart the love of both predominated. 


BY THE GENEVESE EDITOR. 


XXV11 


contains materials for history which it is but 
just to submit to the judgment and criticism of 
those best able to appreciate them, I mean the 
contemporaries of the great epoch to which they 
refer. I must likewise state that of M. Dumont’s 
other posthumous works, some are not finished, 
whilst others, written by parts and at different 
times, are not in a fit state to appear before 
the public. A last work of revision is yet ne¬ 
cessary for the pupose either of placing the dif¬ 
ferent detached portions in the order pointed 
out by their author, or of separating the parts 
that are terminated and publishing them in a 
miscellaneous form. But all these reasons, de¬ 
rived from the subject itself, were not the only 
ones which fixed my determination. I was in¬ 
fluenced in my choice principally from a desire 
of showing M. Dumont in a work entirely his 
own. Hitherto he has been known in the li¬ 
terary and scientific world only as the propa¬ 
gator of M. Bentham’s ideas, and few are able 
to appreciate the full merit of his labors. M. 
Dumont had no literary ambition ; satisfied with 
the esteem of the distinguished individuals who 
knew him, he considered himself sufficiently re¬ 
warded by the consciousness of having contri- 


XXV111 


PREFACE 


buted to the happiness of mankind by the pro¬ 
pagation of useful ideas ; and he never sought, 
I will not say to raise his fame at the expense 
of that which his celebrated friend had so justly 
earned, but even to claim the share of renown 
to which he was really entitled. His own 
thoughts and ideas merged in those of Mr. 
Bentham, and he gave the whole to the pub¬ 
lic under the name of that great publicist, with¬ 
out ever troubling his head about the portion 
of honor and esteem which he should derive 
from them. But if such unequal participation 
suited M. Dumont’s modesty, it is no less in¬ 
cumbent upon me to endeavour to place him in 
the rank which is his due. God forbid, however, 
that I should desire here to raise a controversy, 
by claiming for M. Dumont all or the principal 
part of the merit belonging to the works which 
appeared under the name of Mr. Bentham. It 
would be against evidence and would, moreover, 
be a violation of the respect I owe to M. Du¬ 
mont’s memory; for the latter did not cease, 
to the end of his life, expressing his enthusiastic 
admiration of the English publicist.* My design 

* This is what he wrote a few days before his death: “ What 
I most admire is, the manner in which Mr. Bentham has laid 


P,Y T1IE GENEVESE EDITOR. 


XXIX 


is solely to prove, that if M. Dumont consented 
to work in the second rank, if he preferred in 
some sort to abandon his own stock, and culti¬ 
vate the ideas of another, it was the effect of 
choice, not necessity; and nothing can answer 
my purpose better, than the publication of a 
book written solely by himself, which shows in 
detail, and by precise facts, the high considera¬ 
tion which he enjoyed from the celebrated men 


down his principle, the developement he has given to it, and 
the rigorous logic of his inductions from it. The first book of 
the Treatises on legislation, is an art of reasoning upon this prin¬ 
ciple, of distinguishing it from the false notions which usurp its 
place, of analyzing evil, and of showing the strength of the legislator 
in the four sanctions, natural, moral, political, and religious. The 
whole is new, at least with regard to method and arrangement, 
and they who have attacked the principle generally, have taken 
good care not to make a special attack upon the detailed exposition 
of the system. Egotism, and materialism! How absurd! No¬ 
thing but vile declamation and insipid mummery! Look into the 
catalogue of pleasures, for the rank which the author assigns to 
those of benevolence, and see how he finds in them the germ of all 
social virtues! His admirable Treatise upon the indirect means of 
preventing crime, contains among others, three chapters sufficient 
to pulverise all those miserable objections. One is on the cultiva¬ 
tion of benevolence, another on the proper use of the motive of ho¬ 
nor, and the third on the importance of religion when maintain¬ 
ed in a proper direction; that is to say, of that religion which con- 


C 


XXX 


PREFACE. 


with whom he lived, and proves the depth and 
correctness of his judgment, the elegance of his 
mind, his feelings of high honour, and gives be¬ 
sides, a specimen of his own powers of composi¬ 
tion. It will also be seen, in this work, how 
often men of eminence had recourse to his 
counsels, his information and his [pen ; whence 
it may be inferred, that if he afterwards con¬ 
sented to become second to Mr. Bentham, it 


duces to the benefit of society. I am convinced that Fenelon himself, 
would have put his name to every word of this doctrine. Consider 
the nature and number of Mr. Bentham’s works; see what a wide 
range he has taken in legislation; and is it not acknowledged, that 
no man has more the character of originality, independence, love 
of public good, disinterestedness, and noble courage in braving the 
dangers and persecutions, which have more than once threatened 
his old age ? His moral life is as beautiful as his intellectual. Mr. 
Bentham passes in England, whether with justice or not I am 
unable to determine, for the chief, I mean the spiritual chief, of 
the radical party. His name, therefore, is not in good repute with 
those in power, or those who see greater dangers than advantages 
in a reform, especially a radical reform. I do not pretend to give 
an opinion, either for or against, but it must be understood, that 
he has never enjoyed the favour either of government or of the 
high aristocracy; and this must guide, even in other countries, 
those who desire not to commit themselves; for Mr. Bentham’s 
ensign leads neither to riches nor to power. 


BY THE GENEVESE EDITOR. 


XXXI 


was not from the speculation of an inferior 
mind, incapable of proceeding alone, and who 
would consider such an association as a real 
bonne-fortune , but rather from that true modesty, 
which made him, provided the good were done, 
care little to whom it was attributed. 

M. Dumont by no means looked upon these 
Recollections as a finished work. He spoke of 
them as a sketch which he intended to go over 
again and complete. He intended them as notes 
upon things and persons ; as materials for a 
historical work of a higher order than simple 
memoirs ;—but he alone could have made it com¬ 
plete, and I should consider it a breach of duty 
on my part, had I endeavoured to supply the 
deficiencies, or omissions which may be remarked 
in it, or attempted to finish it even according to 
the plan he had himself laid down when talking 
on the subject. 

Whatever regret we may feel that the sudden 
death of the author should have prevented the 
completion of this work, it will nevertheless 
remain as one of the most interesting sources of 
information and research for the history of the 
period to which it refers. 

M. Dumont’s intimacy with the principal per- 


XXX11 


PREFACE 


sonages of that epoch, and particularly with 
Mirabeau, afforded him the knowledge of many 
facts unknown to most of those who have written 
upon the same subject; and besides observations 
on the general events of the revolution, these 
Recollections contain a number of anecdotes never 
published, and statements concerning persons and 
things, more or less important no doubt, but 
which are all of great interest. 

What appears to me more particularly to add 
to the merit of this work, and distinguish it from 
every production of the same kind, is that M. 
Dumont, a stranger to France, would never con¬ 
sent, from a sentiment of propriety which does 
him much credit—very rare at that period—to 
take an active part in the events which passed 
before his eyes, nor exercise any public functions. 
He has, therefore, nothing to conceal, nor any mo¬ 
tive for altering facts in order to present his own 
conduct in a more favorable light. His love of 
freedom and his great talents made him the con¬ 
fidant of great projects, and a contributor to 
important works, but never in any other capacity 
than as the friend or adviser of the real authors. 
The instant this association of intellect and 
talents attracted the public attention, and he per- 


BY THE GENEVESE EDITOR. 


XXX1U 


ceived that the hopes he had founded on the 
patriotism of those with whom he was connected, 
faded before a sad reality, he hastened to abandon 
the place he occupied, and withdrew. 

I have only another word to say ; it is re¬ 
specting the opinions formed by M. Dumont, 
upon the proceedings of the constituent assem¬ 
bly. Perhaps his judgments may be deemed 
severe; but if the period, when he wrote his 
Recollections, be taken into consideration, that is 
to say 1799, when not many years had elapsed 
since the disorders into which anarchy had 
plunged France—and it be recollected that when 
he went to Paris, he had already resided several 
years in England, it may seem less surprising that 
he should sometimes express strong disappro¬ 
bation. Looking at the proceedings of the 
national assembly, over which a thoughtless and 
enthusiastic heat too often presided, he naturally 
assumed as his point of comparison, the prudent 
slowness and regular form of the English par¬ 
liament. This contrast must have struck him 
painfully, and he might have been the more 
induced to blame what he saw, because the 
labors of the constituent assembly did not pro¬ 
duce the results anticipated by every friend of 


XXIV 


PREFACE 


freedom. He would judge differently now, when 
subsequent events have placed this great epoch 
in its proper light. The action of time which 
effaces or softens prejudices, and the succession 
of events which can alone enable us to look from 
an eminence, permit us now to form a correct 
judgment of the mission of the national assembly. 
It was called upon, at the very outset, to announce 
to Europe the destruction of the ancient social 
order, and prepare for the establishment of a new 
one in France. They who then so strongly 
blamed it for having founded nothing, were not in 
a position fairly to appreciate its works. Their 
wishes, founded, it is true, upon praise-worthy 
motives, made them unjust; they demanded of 
the assembly more than it could perform; and 
assigned it another task than that which Pro¬ 
vidence had fixed. A generous impatience to see 
a realization of the great destinies of man, made 
them anticipate the periods prescribed by the 
order of progress, and they bitterly vituperated 
the constituent assembly for not equalling the 
vast hopes which they had conceived. This as¬ 
sembly, however, which contained most of the 
great and generous minds then distinguished in 
France, accomplished with grandeur, boldness, 


BY THE GENEVESE EDITOR. 


XXXV 


and impartiality, the noblest and most exten¬ 
sive task ever confided to any body of men. 

At the present time, when we can better appre¬ 
ciate the difficulties and dangers it had to en¬ 
counter, and the immensity of the services it 
rendered to the cause of humanity, by destroying 
the obstacles which stopped the progress of 
civilization, we exact less, and are more grateful; 
—in short we are become just. 

I might have softened expressions of severe 
criticism, and struck out certain passages which 
may displease some, but it would have been a 
betrayal of confidence. This work was a deposit 
placed in my hands, and I restore it to the public 
such as it was intrusted to me, unaltered and 
untouched. 


J. L. Duval, 


Member of the Representative Council of Geneva. 










' M fhifi 





RECOLLECTIONS 


OF 


MIRABEAU. 


CHAPTER I. 

I have just read the ‘ Annals of the French 
Revolution,’ by Bertrand de Molleville. This 
work has recalled to my recollection a variety of 
facts whose secret causes are known to me; it 
has also reminded me of my connexion with many 
of the leading characters of that period. A lapse 
of ten years has effaced a number of circum¬ 
stances from my memory, and were 1 to wait 
much longer, I should retain only a very vague 
idea of the many remarkable events which oc- 


B 



2 


RECOLLECTIONS 


curred under my own observation. My friends 
have repeatedly urged me to commit to paper the 
details with which I have been in the habit of en¬ 
tertaining them in private conversation. I have 
hitherto refused, from an invincible repugnance to 
speak of myself. Having been rather a spectator 
than an actor in these events, I can conscientiously 
declare, that in the little participation I had in 
them, my intentions were always pure, however 
defective may have been my judgment. But not 
having attached consequence to any thing I ever 
said or did, I have kept no journal, and have thus 
suffered many interesting matters to escape me. 
I did not, at the time, perceive their importance, 
and it is only by looking back at them through a 
lapse of years, that I am able to appreciate their 
value. In the work of Bertrand de Molleville, 
I have read many details which had already 
escaped my memory, and I feel the necessity of 
putting my own fugitive recollections into a per¬ 
manent form. 

I cannot better employ my leisure hours at 
Bath than by devoting them to this task, which, 
if it prove tedious, as I fear it will, I have only to 
suspend, and throw into the fire what I have 
written. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


3 


My journey to Paris was occasioned by the 
revolution at Geneva in 1789. I went thither with 
Duroverai, ex-attorney-general of Geneva, in con¬ 
sequence of M. Necker’s return to office, and the 
events then passing in France. We had two ob¬ 
jects in view : one to render Geneva wholly free, 
by annulling the treaty which prevented her from 
making laws without the approbation of the powers 
which had become guarantees of that treaty; the 
other, to complete that which the Genevese revo¬ 
lution had only commenced; for this revolution 
having been effected with great precipitation, the 
popular party had obtained only a portion of the 
rights of which they had been deprived in 1782. 
The councils had yielded some of their usurped 
powers, but had managed to retain several. The 
Genevese residents in London were by no means 
satisfied with this arrangement, and the clause 
which they reprobated the most, was the one 
which provided that the exiles, though recalled, 
should not resume their offices and honors. Meet¬ 
ings had been held on this subject; and as I had 
not been banished, but was only a voluntary exile, 
it was considered that I could plead the cause of the 
exiles with much more propriety than themselves. 
My notions of liberty had been strengthened by my 

b 2 


4 


RECOLLECTIONS 


residence in England, and by the liberal spirit of 
the writings published, at that period, in France. 
I was one of the most active at our Genevese 
meetings; and I undertook to write a pamphlet 
containing all the observations we had made upon 
the new Genevese code. My work was well re¬ 
ceived ; and it was proposed to address it to our 
fellow citizens. Duroverai, who had just arrived 
from Ireland, persuaded me that the work would 
prove more effective if published at Paris; and 
that it was necessary to prevent a ratification of 
the treaty by the powers, otherwise the imperfect 
state of things then existing, might be rendered 
permanent and conclusive. 

The affairs of Geneva are totally foreign to the 
present work. But it was necessary that I should 
make known my object in going to Paris, and 
show that, by a concatenation of events, all con¬ 
nected with that object, I found myself mixed up 
with the French revolution. Before I enter upon 
my subject, I must premise that my principal re¬ 
collections relate to Mirabeau, and I am therefore 
bound to begin by stating the origin of my con¬ 
nection with him. 

In 1788, I spent the months of August and Sep¬ 
tember, at Paris, with my friend Mr. Romilly, of 


OF MIRABEAU. 


5 


London. Romilly is descended from a French 
family, who took refuge in England after the revo¬ 
cation of the edict of Nantes ; an event of which he 
never spoke without blessing the memory of Louis 
XIV, to whom he thus owed the obligation of 
being an Englishman. He had embraced the pro¬ 
fession of the law, and practised at the Chancery 
bar, where success is attended with much less 
bclat than in the Court of King’s Bench. 

During Mirabeau’s visit to London in 1784, he 
had become very intimate with Romiily. He was 
then engaged in his work on the order of Cincinna- 
tus, and had in his portfolio plans and sketches 
of several other works, upon which he took good 
care to consult every person capable of affording 
him information. He was then poor, and obliged 
to live by his writings. He wrote his Considera¬ 
tions on the Escaut, from a letter by M. Chauvet, 
which gave him the first idea of the work. Hav¬ 
ing become acquainted with a geographer, whose 
name I forget, he also meditated writing a 
universal geography. Had any one offered him 
the elements of Chinese grammar, he would, no 
doubt, have attempted a treatise on the Chinese 
language. He studied a subject whilst he was 
writing upon it, and he only required an assistant 


6 


RECOLLECTIONS 


who furnished matter. He could contrive to get 
notes and additions from twenty different hands; 
and had he been offered a good price, I am confi¬ 
dent he would have undertaken to write even an 
encyclopaedia. 

His activity was prodigious. If he worked 
little himself, he made others work very hard. 
He had the art of finding out men of talent, and 
of successfully flattering those who could be of 
use to him. He worked upon them with insinua¬ 
tions of friendship, and ideas of public benefit:* 
His interesting and animated conversation, was 
like a hone which he used to sharpen his tools. 
Nothing was lost to him. He collected with care 
anecdotes, conversations, and thoughts—appropri¬ 
ated, to his own benefit, the fruits of the reading 
and study of his friends—knew how to use the in¬ 
formation thus acquired, so as to appear always 
to have possessed it—and when he had begun a 
work in earnest, it was seen to make a rapid and 
daily progress. 

In London he fell in with D... ., who was 
writing a History of the Revolutions of Geneva, 

* When, at a later period, Mirabeau wanted my services, he 
spoke to me in praise of my friends, and talked about Geneva. This 
was a species of Ranz des Vaches —it softened and subjugated me. 
Note by Dumont. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


7 


the first volume of which he had already pub¬ 
lished. D.... wished to be an author without 
its being known, and seemed to blame himself for 
writing this work. He pressed Mirabeau to take 
his manuscripts and compose a History of Geneva. 
In less than a week, Mirabeau showed him an 
extract he had made from the volume already pub¬ 
lished. It was done in a masterly style; was 
energetic, rapid and interesting. I know not 
what made D... . change his mind, but, on a sud¬ 
den, he withdrew his manuscripts from Mirabeau. 
The consequence was a coolness, and something 
worse, between them. These two men could never 
have worked in conjunction. Mirabeau, however, 
declared that he only wanted the second place, 
and would willingly yield to D.... the honor of 
the undertaking; but the truth is, he thought 
that his reputation would absorb that of his com¬ 
panion, and that D.... would be considered, at 
most, but as a mason who had brought the stones 
and mortar for the edifice, of which Mirabeau was 
the architect. 

When we arrived at Paris in 1788, the charac- 
racter of the Count de Mirabeau was in the lowest 
possible state of degradation. He had been em¬ 
ployed at Berlin, by M. de Calonne, was con- 


8 


RECOLLECTIONS 


nected with all the enemies of Necker, against 
whom he had several times exercised his pen, and 
was considered as a dangerous enemy and a slippery 
friend. His law-suits with his family—his elope¬ 
ments—his imprisonments and his morals, could 
not be overlooked, even in a city so lax as Paris ; 
and his name was pronounced with detestation 
at the houses of some of our most intimate friends. 
Romilly, almost ashamed of his former friendship 
for Mirabeau, determined not to renew acquaint¬ 
ance with him. But Mirabeau was not a man of 
etiquette; and having learnt our address from 
Target, at whose house we had dined, he deter¬ 
mined to call upon us. The noise of a carriage at 
the door, drove Romilly to his room, desiring me, 
should it be a visitor on a call of ceremony, to say 
that he was out. Mirabeau was announced, and 
I did not send word to Romilly, because I thought 
he wished to avoid seeing the count; and as his 
room was only separated by a thin partition from 
the one we were in, I concluded that he would be 
able to distinguish the voice of our visitor, and 
make his appearance if he pleased. Mirabeau 
began the conversation by talking of our mutual 
friends in London. He then spoke of Geneva, 
for he well knew that to a Genevese there was no 


OF MIRABEAU. 


9 


greater pleasure than talking of his country. He 
said many flattering things of a city which, by 
producing so many distinguished men, had contri¬ 
buted to the general mass, so large a share of 
genius and learning; and he concluded by affirm¬ 
ing, that he should never be happy until he could 
liberate that city from the fetters imposed upon it 
by the revolution of 1782. Two hours seemed 
but a moment; and Mirabeau was, in my estima¬ 
tion, the most interesting object in Paris. The 
visit ended by my promising to dine with him 
the same day, and he was to return and fetch me 
in his carriage. 

“ With whom have you been talking so long ?” 
said Romilly, on leaving his room, to which this 
long visit had confined him.—“ Did you not re¬ 
cognise his voice?” enquired I.—“No.”—“Yet 
you well know the individual, and I even think 
you must have heard a panegyric on yourself, 
which would have made a superb funeral oration.” 
—“What! was it Mirabeau?”—“It was; and 
may I be a fool all my life, if I allow the prejudices 
of our friends to prevent me from enjoying his 
company. I belong neither to Calonne’s party, 
nor to Necker’s; but to his, whose conversation 
animates and delights me. As a commencement, I 


10 


RECOLLECTIONS 


am going to dine with him to-day.” Mirabeau 
soon returned, took us both with him, and in a 
very short time overcame our prejudices. We 
visited him often ; and taking advantage of the fine 
weather, made many excursions into the country. 
We dined with him in the Bois de Boulogne, at 
St. Cloud, and at Vincennes; at which latter 
place, he showed us the dungeon in which he had 
been confined three years. 

I never knew a man who, when he chose, could 
make himself so agreeable as Mirabeau. He was 
a delightful companion in every sense of the word ; 
obliging, attentive, full of spirits, and possessed of 
great powers of mind and imagination. It was 
impossible to maintain reserve with him; you 
were forced into familiarity, obliged to forego 
etiquette and the ordinary forms of society, and 
call him simply by his name. Although fond of 
his title of count, and, at the bottom of his heart, 
attaching great importance to noble birth, he had 
too much good sense not to know when he could 
avail himself of it with propriety; he therefore 
made a merit of its voluntary abdication. The 
forms of good breeding, which have been so pro¬ 
perly compared to the cotton and other soft mate¬ 
rials placed between china vases, to prevent their 


OF MI11ABEAU. 


11 


being broken by collision, keeps men at a certain 
distance from each other and prevents, as it were, 
the contact of hearts. Mirabeau rejected them. 
His first care was to remove such obstacles, and 
intimate intercourse with him was attended with 
a sort of agreeable asperity, a pleasant crudity of 
expression, more apparent than real; for under 
the disguise of roughness, sometimes even of rude¬ 
ness, was to be found all the reality of politeness 
and flattery. After the stiff and ceremonious 
conversations of formal good breeding, there 
was a fascinating novelty in his, never rendered 
insipid by forms in common use. His residence 
at Berlin had supplied him with a stock of curious 
anecdotes; for his scandalous letters were not then 
published. He was, at this period, publishing his 
book on the Prussian monarchy. This produc¬ 
tion consisted of a work by Major Mauvillon, and 
extracts from different memoirs procured at great 
expense. No one could, for a moment, suppose that, 
during a residence of only eight months at Berlin, 
Mirabeau could himself have written eight volumes, 
in which he had introduced every possible informa¬ 
tion relative to the government of Prussia. But he 
had the merit of employing the talents of an officer 
scarcely known to the government he served, and 


12 


RECOLLECTIONS 


the Prussian ministers must have been much sur¬ 
prised at finding that a man who had made so 
short a sojourn in their country, could singly under¬ 
take so arduous a task, and succeed in supplying 
them with more materials than could be found in 
the united offices of their several departments. 
This work is an illustration, by facts, of Adam 
Smith’s principles of political economy; and it 
clearly proves that Prussia has always been a 
sufferer, whenever she has departed from those 
principles. 

This was the period of the famous quarrel be¬ 
tween M. de Calonne and M. Necker, about the 
deficit. The former had good reasons for endea¬ 
vouring, by a direct charge, to throw upon other 
shoulders the weight of his own responsibility. 
He had accused M. Necker of having imposed 
upon the nation by a statement, that on leaving 
office, instead of a deficiency, there was an over¬ 
plus of ten millions of livres. M. de Calonne’s 
article, teeming with arithmetical calculations, 
and specious arguments, had produced a certain 
effect upon the public mind. M. Necker, who 
had just resumed office, had announced his reply 
as forthcoming. Mirabeau was preparing to re¬ 
fute the latter, even before it had appeared and 


OF MIRABEAU. 


13 


he could possibly know its contents. M. 
Necker’s enemies were in the habit of meeting at 
the house of Panchaud, the banker, a man of 
talent, and well versed in finance, but who, after 
a disgraceful bankruptcy, was lost in character 
more than he was ruined in fortune. On the 
publication of M. Necker's work, the committee 
met daily, and Mirabeau always attended to collect 
observations, and inveigh against the minister. 
He anticipated the most triumphant success; and 
talked confidently of exposing the charlatan, rip¬ 
ping him open , and laying him at Calonne’s feet, 
convicted of falsehood and incapacity. But this 
fierce ardour was soon exhausted by its own vio¬ 
lence; and he said no more on the subject him¬ 
self, nor was he pleased when any other person 
mentioned it in his presence. I often asked him 
why this refutation was delayed; by what no¬ 
velty of kindly feelings he spared the great char¬ 
latan, who was enjoying an unmerited reputation ; 
and why Panchaud’s committee deferred this great 
act of justice ? Mirabeau, to get rid of these at¬ 
tacks, which, after his foolish boasting, he could 
not well parry, at length informed me that M. 
Necker’s aid was necessary for the formation of the 
states-general, that his popularity was useful, and 


14 


RECOLLECTIONS 


that the question of the deficit was absorbed by 
the more important one of the double representa¬ 
tion of the tiers-Stat. 

From this fact I infer that M. Necker’s 
answer had proved victorious and that his 
enemies could not succeed in injuring his cha¬ 
racter. 

We went with Mercier, the author of the 
“ Tableau de Paris,” and Mallet-Dupan, to see 
these horrid dens, the Salpetrikre and Bic6tre. I 
never saw any thing more hideous ; and these 
two establishments at the gates of the metropolis 
strongly display the careless frivolity of the 
French. The hospital contained the germ of 
every loathsome disease ; the prison was the 
school of every crime. Romilly, much moved, 
wrote, in a letter to a friend, an energetic de¬ 
scription of these two receptacles of wretched¬ 
ness. I mentioned this description to Mirabeau, 
who was anxious to see it. After reading it, 
to translate and publish it was the work of a 
single day ; and he completed a small volume by 
adding a translation of an anonymous paper 
on the administration of the criminal law of 
England. The work was announced as trans¬ 
lated from the English, by the Count de Mira- 


OF MIRABEAU, 


15 


beau ; but the public, accustomed to disguises of 
this nature, imputed to him the authorship of 
both. The success of this book was great, and its 
profits covered his expenses for a month. Mira- 
beau enjoyed a high reputation as a writer. His 
work on the Bank of St. Charles, his “ Denun¬ 
ciation of Stock-jobbing,” his “ Considerations 
on the Order of Cincinnatus,” and his “ Lettres 
de Cachet,” were his titles to fame. But if all 
who had contributed to these works, had each 
claimed his share, nothing would have remained 
as Mirabeau’s own, but a certain art of arrange¬ 
ment, some bold expressions and biting epi¬ 
grams, and numerous bursts of manly eloquence, 
certainly not the growth of the French Academy. 
He obtained from Clavi&re and Panchaud the 
materials for his writings on finance. Clavikre 
supplied him with the subject matter of his Letter 
to the King of Prussia. De Bourges was the 
author of his address to the Batavians, and I have 
often been present at the disputes between them, 
to which this circumstance gave rise. Mirabeau 
did not deny the debt; but de Bourges seeing 
the success of the work, was enraged at having 
been sacrificed to the fame of another. Mirabeau 
stood so high with the public, that the partners 


16 


RECOLLECTIONS 


of his labours could not succeed in destroying a 
reputation which they had themselves established 
for him. 1 have often compared Mirabeau to a 
general making conquests through his lieutenants 
whom he afterwards subjects to the very authority 
they have founded for him. Mirabeau had cer¬ 
tainly a right to consider himself the parent of all 
these productions, because he presided at their 
birth, and without his indefatigable activity they 
would never have seen the light. 

Clavi&re, as much annoyed as any man could 
be at having served as a pedestal to Mirabeau’s 
fame, had formed a connection with Brissot de 
Warville, with whom he wrote in conjunction. 
Mirabeau called Brissot a literary jockey, and 
spoke of him with contempt, but entertained a 
high opinion of Clavi&re, with whom he was 
desirous of a renewal of intimacy. There had 
been no direct rupture between them, but much 
bitter feeling. Clavikre called Mirabeau a jack¬ 
daw that ought to be stripped of his borrowed 
plumes; but this jackdaw, even when deprived 
of his borrowed plumes, was still armed with a 
powerful spur, and could soar above all the rest 
of the literary tribe. 

Mirabeau introduced us to Dupont de Nemours 


OF MIHABEAU. 


17 


and Champfort. Dupont, author of the “ Citizen’s 
Ephemerides,” and the zealous friend of Turgot, 
had the reputation of an honest man and a clever 
economist; but he rendered himself a little ridi¬ 
culous by the affectation of importance with 
which he complained of having to correspond 
with four kings. We found him one morning oc¬ 
cupied in writing a work on leather , in which he 
showed that the government had never been con¬ 
sistent in its regulations on this matter. “ This 
work,” said he, “ will be more entertaining than 
a novel;” and, as a specimen, he read to us seven 
or eight heavy and tedious chapters ; but he re¬ 
warded us for this ennui by giving us many anec¬ 
dotes of the assembly of notables, of which he 
had been secretary. He mentioned, among other 
things, a very successful bon-mot. Tithes were 
the subject of discussion. “ Tithes,” said the 
Archbishop of Aix, in a whining tone, “ that 
voluntary offering of the devout faithful ... — 
“ Tithes,” interrupted the Duke de la Rochefau- 
could, in his quiet and modest way, which ren¬ 
dered the trait more piquant , “ that voluntary 
offering of the devout faithful, concerning which 
there are now forty thousand law-suits in the 
kingdom.” 


c 


18 


RECOLLECTIONS 


Champfort and Mirabeau kept up a reciprocal 
exchange of absurd compliments. The former 
affected independence of character even to singu¬ 
larity. Although intimate with several distin¬ 
guished persons at court, particularly with M. de 
Vaudreuil, he always made a point of railing, in 
their presence, against every thing connected 
with high office and elevated rank. He aimed 
at passing for a misanthropist; but his dislike of 
human-kind arose from pride alone, and was 
manifested only in epigrams. Whilst others en¬ 
deavoured, with a battering ram, to overthrow 
the Colossus, he attempted to cripple him with 
shafts of satire. Knowing him afterwards more 
intimately, I saw a great deal of him ; and, in his 
passion for revolution, I could discern nothing but 
a species of wounded vanity, susceptible of no 
enjoyment save the one resulting from the over¬ 
throw of that superiority of talent which had given 
him umbrage. He hated the institution of mar¬ 
riage, because he was himself illegitimate; and 
he declaimed against persons of rank and influ¬ 
ence, lest he should be suspected of enjoying 
court patronage. By his own account, he was a 
severe moralist, and yet he sought his pleasures 
in the very coarsest and most degrading kind of 


OF MIRABEAU. 


19 


voluptuousness. Mirabeau said that a statue 
ought to be raised to him by the physicians, 
because he had discovered, in the stews of the 
Palais Royal, the germ of a disease thought to be 
extinct—a kind of leprosy or elephantiasis. 

We had other acquaintances at Paris besides 
Mirabeau, among whom we dared not boast 
above our breath of our intimacy with the latter. 
There were the Duke de la Rochefoucauld, M. 
de Malesherbes, M. de Lafayette, Mr. Jefferson, 
the American minister. Mallet du Pan, the Abb6 
Morellet, and many other personages less known. 
French conversation at this period was much 
less trivial than it used to be. The approaching 
convocation of the states-general, the importance 
of passing political events, interesting questions on 
freedom, and the near approach of a crisis which 
would affect the future destinies of the nation, 
were all novel topics at Paris, where they excited 
a diversity of opinions, and raised a fermentation 
which, though yet but feebly developed, imparted 
a strong stimulus to conversation. Every mind 
plunged into uncertain futurity and speculated in 
accordance with his fears or his wishes. In the 
higher classes, not a single individual remained 
indifferent to what was passing, and even the 

c 2 


20 


RECOLLECTIONS 


mass of the people commenced an agitation of 
which they scarcely knew the object. 

The two months we spent at Paris were so 
well filled, the company we saw so varied, the 
whole of our time so profitably employed, the 
objects we beheld so interesting, and the scene so 
constantly changing, that in this short period, I 
lived more than during whole years of my subse¬ 
quent life. I was chiefly indebted to my fellow- 
traveller for the reception I met with. I was 
under his auspices, and as his society was much 
courted, I did not encounter neglect. I was 
proud of his merit, and when I perceived that he 
was understood and appreciated, my heart warmed 
with the exultation of friendship at the considera¬ 
tion he enjoyed without perceiving it. I cannot 
at present conceive how, in so short a time, we 
managed to get through all we performed. Ro- 
milly, always so quiet and measured in his 
motions, is yet a man of unceasing activity. He 
does not lose even minutes. He devotes himself 
in earnest to whatever he is doing ; and, like 
the hand of a clock, never stops, although his 
motions are so equal as to be scarcely perceptible. 

I can fancy I see him now before me, over¬ 
whelmed with business in the most laborious of 


OF MIRABEAU. 


21 


professions; nevertheless he finds leisure to read 
every important book that appears, recurs often 
to his classics, sees much company, and yet never 
appears pressed for time. Economy of time is a 
virtue I never possessed, and my days often pass 
away without leaving any trace. Romilly com¬ 
municated his activity to me, and taught me an 
art which unfortunately I shall never be able to 
make available*. 

On our departure, Mirabeau accompanied us 
as far as Chantilly, where we spent a delightful 
day, making projects to meet again ; and we 
agreed to keep up a regular correspondence, 
which, however, we did not even begin. Mira¬ 
beau was full of his plan concerning the states- 
general. He foresaw the difficulties he should have 
to encounter in his election ; but he already aimed 
at becoming one of the representatives of the tiers- 
£tat, from a notion that he should thereby raise 
himself to greater eminence, and that his rank 
would add fresh kclat to his popular principles, 
I will here give another instance of his ac¬ 
tivity—of his avarice, I may say, in collecting 

* Sir Samuel Romilly died in London in 1818 . —Note by the 
Genevese Editor. 


22 


RECOLLECTIONS 


the smallest literary materials. He gave me a 
methodical list of the subjects we had discussed 
together in conversation, and upon which we had 
differed. It was headed thus ; “ List of subjects 
which Dumont engages, upon the faith of friend¬ 
ship, to treat conscientiously, and send to Mirabeau 
very shortly after his return to London. Divers 
anecdotes on his residence in Russia; biographical 
sketches of several celebrated Genevese ; opinions 
on national education,” &c. There were eighteen 
items in all, and his recollection of them was 
a proof of his attention and faithful memory. 
He was desirous of forming a collection of such 
materials, that he might use them at his leisure. 
Mirabeau could adopt every style of conduct and 
conversation, and though not himself a moral 
man, he had a very decided taste for the society 
of those whose rigidity of principle and severity 
of morals contrasted with the laxity of his own. 
His mode of inspiring confidence was to con¬ 
fess candidly the faults and follies of his youth, 
express regret at his former errors, and de¬ 
clare that he would endeavour to expiate them 
by a sedulous and useful application of his 
talents in future to the cause of humanity and 
liberty, without allowing any personal advan- 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


23 


tage to turn him from his purpose. He had 
preserved, even in the midst of his excesses, a 
certain dignity and elevation of mind, combined 
with energy of character, which distinguished 
him from those effeminate and worn out rakes, 
those walking shadows, with which Paris swarmed; 
and one was tempted to admit, as an excuse for 
his faults, the particular circumstances of his 
education, and to think that his virtues belonged 
to himself and that his vices were forced upon 
him. I never knew a man more jealous of the 
esteem of those whom he himself esteemed, or 
one who could be acted upon more easily, if 
excited by a sentiment of high honour ; but 
there was nothing uniform and permanent in his 
character. His mind proceeded by leaps and 
starts, and obeyed too many impetuous masters. 
When burning with pride or jealousy, his pas¬ 
sions were terrible ; he was no longer master 
of himself, and committed the most dangerous 
imprudences. 

Having thus explained the origin of my intimacy 
with Mirabeau, I return to the journey I under¬ 
took with M. Duroverai, in 1789, for the purpose 
of trying if, with M. Necker’s return to office, we 
could not better the condition of the Genevese 
exiles. 


24 


RECOLLECTIONS 


CHAPTER II. 

A somewhat ludicrous circumstance occurred 
during our journey. I have but an imperfect re¬ 
collection of it. All was in a bustle for the election 
of the deputies ; and the primary assemblies of the 
bailliages, composed of shopkeepers and peasants, 
knew not how to proceed with an election. We 
were breakfasting at Montreuil-sur-Mer, if I recol¬ 
lect right, and while chatting with our host, the lat¬ 
ter acquainted us with the trouble and embarrass¬ 
ment attendant upon their meetings. Two or 
three days had been lost in disputes and confu¬ 
sion, and they had never even heard of such 
things as a president, a secretary, or voting tick¬ 
ets. By way of a joke, we determined to become 
the legislators of Montreuil, and having called for 
pen, ink and paper, began to draw up short regu- 


°F M1RABEAU. 


25 


lations indicating the proper mode of conducting 
these elections. Never did work proceed more 
gaily than ours. In an hour it was complete, 
though interrupted every moment by peals of 
laughter. We then read and explained it to our 
host, who, delighted at the idea of acquiring con¬ 
sequence, entreated that we would give it to him, 
assuring us that he would make good use of it. 
We would willingly have delayed our journey for 
a day to assist at this assembly and behold the 
incipient dawn of democracy in France, but we 
could not spare the time. Soon after our arrival 
at Paris, we were not a little surprised at reading 
in the public prints, that the assembly at Mon- 
treuil had finished its election the first of any, 
and great praises were bestowed upon the order 
which had been established there. 

This circumstance is not so unimportant as it 
might at first appear. It displays either the care¬ 
lessness or the incapacity of a government which 
could order so unusual a thing as a popular elec¬ 
tion, without drawing up a regular form of pro¬ 
ceeding so as to prevent disputes and confusion. 

On our arrival at Paris, we waited on M. 
Necker, and in an interview with that minister, 
perceived that the question of the Genevese gua- 


26 


RECOLLECTIONS 


rantee would not be so easily settled as we had 
anticipated. The King would neither consent to 
annul the edict of 1782, nor risk a refusal of his 
assent to an arrangement voluntarily entered into 
by both parties. As the negociation threatened 
to be long, I spent a few weeks at Clavikre’s 
country-house at Surene, where I employed my¬ 
self in re-writing my 4 Address to the citizens of 
Geneva.’ I was aided in this task by Clavi&re, 
Duroverai, and Reybaz, the latter being my Aris¬ 
tarchus for the style ; for this was my apprentice¬ 
ship in the art of composition, at least upon poli¬ 
tical topics. The work was finished, and sent to 
Geneva two or three months after. I say nothing 
of the sensation it produced, for if I derive any 
pleasure from continuing these memoirs, I shall 
have a long chapter to write on the subsequent 
revolutions of Geneva, and the individual part I 
took in them. 

Clavikre’s house at Surene was the rendezvous 
of many of the most distinguished personages of 
the French revolution. Mirabeau and Brissot 
were two of the most remarkable. I was aware 
of every thing that was passing at Paris ; I often 
went there for a day or two, in order not to neg¬ 
lect the acquaintances I had formed during my 


OF MIRABEAU. 


27 


former residence in that city. I visited the Duke 
de la Rochefoucauld, M. de Lafayette, and M. de 
Malesherbes. I had since become very intimate 
with the Bishop of Chartres, at whose house 
I ofte n m et the Abb6 Sieyes. I visited also 
M. Delessert, Mallet-Dupan, Dr. de La Roche> 
M. Bidderman and M. Reybaz. But during 
the months of March and April, I was almost 
always at Sur6ne, occupied with my work and 
caring little about the approaching meeting of the 
states-general. 

I remember attending, at Brissot’s and Cla- 
vi&re’s, several meetings which they called com¬ 
mittees, in which it was proposed to draw up de¬ 
clarations of right, and to lay down principles for 
conducting the proceedings of the states-general. 
I was only a spectator, and I never quitted one 
of these meetings without a feeling of mortal dis¬ 
gust at the chattering of these talkers. But the 
scene about to be unfolded was so important that I 
was always to be found wherever there was any 
thing to be seen. I heard no interesting speeches 
it is true; but the feeling on the subject of liberty 
was unanimous. Cordiality, warmth and energy 
pervaded every heart, and in the midst of a nation 
endeavouring to shake off the trammels of feudal 


28 


RECOLLECTIONS 


oppression, and which had abandoned its charac¬ 
teristic frivolity for a nobler pursuit, I felt inspired 
with the most enthusiastic ardour, and yielded to 
the most flattering anticipations. The French, 
against whom I had imbibed a prejudice of con¬ 
tempt, arising from my republican education, and 
which had been strengthened in England, now 
seemed to me quite a different people. I began to 
look upon them as free men, and I participated in 
all the opinions of the most zealous partisans of the 
tiers-dtat. I did not give much consideration to 
the questions which divided the French nation, 
but suffered myself to be borne away by my ha¬ 
bitual opinions in favour of liberty. I never con¬ 
templated more than an imitation of the English 
form of government, which 1 considered the most 
perfect model of political institutions. But if I 
had not adequately studied the subject, neither 
had I the presumption to deliver an opinion upon 
it. I never spoke at any of these meetings, when 
they exceeded the ordinary number of a friendly 
party. No one could be less desirous than I, of 
making a display before a numerous auditory. I 
considered such a thing improper for a stranger, 
and my natural timidity strengthened my resolve 
not to make the attempt. Duroverai, although 


OF MIRABEAU. 


29 


more accustomed to public assemblies, and gifted, 
moreover, with a power of eloquence which would 
have raised him to the highest rank in these com¬ 
mittees, maintained a similar reserve, and had not 
even the modest ambition to undertake a part 
which he might have played with the most distin¬ 
guished success. I will now state how we were 
at length dragged into the stream*. 

The only impression which these speeches and 
proceedings have left upon my mind is one of a 
chaos of confused notions. There was no fixed 
point of public opinion, except against the 

* In one of these meetings at Brissot’s, the subject under dis¬ 
cussion was the several points to be inserted in the regulation for 
Paris. Amid a great number of propositions, we were greatly 
surprised at hearing Palissot move for a special article on the 
right of representation. We Genevese fancied that he meant the 
right of making representations or rather remonstrances to govern¬ 
ment. But he soon undeceived us by stating that this essential 
right, one of the most precious attributes of liberty, was now in the 
very act of being violated by government, in the most open man¬ 
ner, for M. Chenier’s tragedy of Charles IX, was not allowed to 
be performed. Being thus made acquainted with the nature of the 
right of representation, we could not help smiling at our blunder, 
when some one approaching me, whispered in my ear, “You per¬ 
ceive that among the French, every thing ends with the thea¬ 
tre .”—Note by Dumont . 


30 


RECOLLECTIONS 


court, and what was then termed the aristo¬ 
cracy. Necker was the divinity of the day; and 
Sieyes, then little known to the people, had, in 
his writings, supplied with points of argument 
such as were fond of discussing public questions. 
Rabaud de Saint-Etienne and Target had ac¬ 
quired a reputation at least equal to that of 
Sieyes. They who anticipated a civil war, looked 
upon Lafayette as ambitious of becoming the 
Washington of France. These were the leading 
characters of the day. 

The Duke de la Rochefoucauld, distinguished 
by his simplicity, the excellence of his moral cha¬ 
racter, his independence of the court and his libe¬ 
ral principles, assembled at his house the prin¬ 
cipal members of the nobility who had pronounced 
themselves in favour of the people, the double re¬ 
presentation of the tiers , the vote by numbers, 
the abolition of privileges, &c. Condorcet, Du¬ 
pont, Lafayette, and the Duke de Liancourt, were 
the most distinguished at these meetings. The 
prevailing idea was that of giving a constitution to 
France. The princes and nobles, who would fain 
preserve and fortify the old constitution, formed, 
properly speaking, the aristocratic party, against 
whom a general outcry was raised. But although the 


OF MIRABEAU. 


31 


clamour was great, many individuals were almost 
indifferent, because they were unable to appreciate 
the consequences of what was passing. The body 
of the nation, even at Paris, saw nothing more in 
the assembling of the states-general, than a means 
of diminishing the taxes ; and the creditors of the 
state, so' often deprived of their dividends by a vio¬ 
lation of public faith, considered the states-gene¬ 
ral as nothing more than a rampart against a 
government bankruptcy. The ddfcit had filled 
them with consternation; they deemed themselves 
on the brink of ruin, and were anxious to establish 
the public revenue upon a sure foundation. Be¬ 
sides this, each order of the states-general had 
its parties; the order of the nobility was divided 
into an aristocratic and a democratic faction ; 
so was that of the clergy, and so was the tiers- 
etat. It is impossible to describe the confusion 
of ideas, the licentiousness of imagination, the 
burlesque notions of popular rights, the hopes, 
apprehensions and passions of these parties. The 
Count de Lauraguais said that it was like a world, 
the day after its creation , when, nations, rendered 
hostile by interest, were trying to settle their dif¬ 
ferences and regulate their respective rights as if 


32 


RECOLLECTIONS 


nothing had previously existed, and in making 
arrangements for the future, there was no past 
to be taken into consideration. 

I was present at Paris at the meetings of 
the sections for the appointment of electors. 
Although there were orders to admit into these 
assemblies, none but the inhabitants of the sec¬ 
tion in which they were respectively held, they 
were not enforced ; for in France there was no 
feeling of jealousy in this respect. After the first 
few had entered, every decently dressed indivi¬ 
dual presenting himself at the door, was allowed 
to pass. In many sections, there was some diffi¬ 
culty in obtaining the attendance of a sufficient 
number of persons. The citizens of Paris, sur¬ 
prised at the novelty of the thing, and rather 
alarmed at sentinels being placed at the doors of 
the assemblies, remained at home out of danger, 
and determined to continue to do so until the 
first few days were passed. I was at the section 
of the Filles-Samt-Thomas, a central district 
inhabited by the most opulent classes. For 
many days, not more than two hundred indivi¬ 
duals were present. The difficulty of giving 
the first impetus to the machine, was extreme. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


33 


The noise and confusion were beyond any thing 
I can describe. Each individual was standing 
and all spoke at the same time, nor could the 
president succeed in obtaining silence for two 
minutes together. Many other difficulties arose 
on the manner of taking the votes and count¬ 
ing them. I had a store of curious anecdotes 
relative to this infancy of popular institutions, 
but by degrees they have been effaced from my 
memory. They were instances of the eagerness 
of conceited men to put themselves forward in 
the hope of being elected. 

Here were likewise to be seen the first at¬ 
tempts at party intrigue. A list of candidates 
was rejected, and the elections were to be made 
amongst all persons present. The consequence 
of this was, that the votes were at first so 
much divided, that no absolute majority was 
obtained for any one candidate proposed, and it 
became necessary to repeat the poll several times. 

The assembly of electors were as slow and 
tumultuous in their proceedings as the district 
assemblies. The states-general met at Versailles 
several days before the deputies were elected 
for Paris. It is a remarkable fact that the 


D 


34 


RECOLLECTIONS 


Abb6 Sieyes was the last deputy elected, and 
the only ecclesiastic appointed to represent the 
tiers-etat. Thus the man who had given the 
impulsion to the states-general and possessed 
the greatest influence in their formation, owed 
his being a member of that assembly, to a mere 
chance. 

The elections at Paris were the last in the 
kingdom. The delay arose, I apprehend, from 
a discussion as to the mode of making them. 
Some pretended that it should be done by the 
three orders in conjunctions—others, by the or¬ 
ders separately. During this discussion, Duval 
d'Espresm^nil, who had always been considered 
a partisan of the tiers-dtat, declared himself 
in favour of privileges ; and on this occasion 
the Count de Lauraguais said to him jeeringly, 
“ Eh ! M. Duval, as I do not prevent you from 
being noble, pray suffer me to be a bourgeois of 
Paris!” 

I was not at Versailles at the opening of the 
states, but went thither a few days afterwards. 
The three orders were in open quarrel about 
the verification of their powers. The tiers- 
Hat wanted this verification to be made in 
common; the two other orders insisted upon 


OF MIRABEAU. 


35 


its being done separately. Though the question 
appeared to be of no importance, much in reality 
depended upon it. The tiers-etat wanted the two 
other orders to unite with them and form but 
one assembly; in which case, the commons, from 
their numerical strength, would always main¬ 
tain a preponderance. They adhered to this 
opinion with the greatest tenacity ; resisted 
every attempt to bring them into action, and 
contrived to cast upon the nobility and clergy an 
imputation of obstinacy, which rendered the lat¬ 
ter orders still more unpopular with the mul¬ 
titude. 

It was a great blunder of the government 
to leave this question unsettled. If the King 
had ordered the union of all three, he would 
have had the tiers-&tat for him; and had he 
ordered the separation, he would have been 
supported by the nobility and clergy. The 
states-general would certainly not have begun 
their proceedings by an act of disobedience 
towards the King, then considered as the pro¬ 
visional legislator. But in coming to no de¬ 
cision on the subject, he opened the lists 
to the combattants, and the royal authority 

d 2 


36 


RECOLLECTIONS 


was destined to become the prey of the vic¬ 
tors. 

I had opportunities of seeing how much this delay 
generated and excited party feelings. The tiers-etat 
continued their proceedings, and at length went so 
far as to constitute themselves a national assem¬ 
bly, after having sent a peremptory summons to 
the nobility and clergy, to which those orders 
declined paying any attention. All the seeds 
of disorder were sown during this interval, 
and this is a period to which the historian 
of the revolution ought to pay particular at¬ 
tention. 

When I entered the hall in which the States 
sate, there was neither object of discussion nor 
order. The deputies were not at first known to 
each other; but every day made them better ac¬ 
quainted. During their proceedings, they took 
their places any where, chose the oldest among 
them to preside at their sittings, and spent their 
whole time in discussing trifling incidents, listen¬ 
ing to news; and, the provincial deputies, in 
making themselves acquainted with Versailles. 

The hall was constantly full of visitors who 
went every where and even took possession of 


OF MIllABEAU. 


37 


the benches of the deputies, without any jea¬ 
lousy on the part of the latter, or claims of pri¬ 
vilege. It is true that, not being yet constituted, 
they considered themselves rather as members 
of a club than of a body politic. 


38 


recollections 


CHAPTER III. 

I soon found the person I was looking for. It 
was Mirabeau. In the course of a long conversa¬ 
tion with him, I discovered that he was already 
annoyed with every body, and in open hos¬ 
tility with the majority of the deputation from 
Provence. I was informed soon afterwards that 
several humiliating circumstances had occurred to 
vex him. 

When the list of deputies of the several bail- 
liages was read, many well known names were 
received with applause. Mounier, Chapelier, 
Rabaud de Sainte-Etienne, and several others 
had been distinguished by these flattering marks 
of approbation ; but, when Mirabeau’s name was 
read, there was a murmur of a different kind, and 
hooting instead of applause. Insult and contempt 
showed how low he stood in the estimation of his 


OF MIRABEAU. 


39 


colleagues, and it was even openly proposed to 
get his election cancelled, when the verification of 
powers took place. He had employed manoeuvres 
at AiXj and at Marseilles, which were to be 
brought forward against the legality of his return ; 
and he himself felt so convinced that his election 
at Marseilles could never be maintained, that he 
gave the preference to Aix, although he would 
have been much more flattered at representing 
one of the largest and most important cities in the 
kingdom. He had tried to speak on two or three 
occasions, but a general murmur always reduced 
him to silence. It was in this situation of spite 
and ill-humour, that he published the two first 
numbers of an anonymous journal entitled, the 
“ States-General,” a sort of lampoon upon the as¬ 
sembly. He compared the deputies to tumul¬ 
tuous school-boys, giving way to indecent and 
servile mirth. He severely attacked M. Necker, 
the nation’s idol. In short, this journal was a 
collection of epigrams. The government ordered 
its suppression; but Mirabeau, more excited than 
discouraged by this prohibition, announced in his 
own name, his “ Letters to his constituents.” No 
one durst dispute the right of a representative of 


40 


RECOLLECTIONS 


the people, to give an account of the public sit¬ 
tings of the assembly. 

With my friendship for Mirabeau, and the high 
opinion I entertained of his talents, it made my 
heart bleed to see him in such disgrace, especially 
as it inflamed his self-love, and made him, per¬ 
haps, do as much harm as he might have done 
good. I listened patiently to all his complaints 
and railings against the assembly. In speaking 
of its members, he was prodigal in his expres¬ 
sions of contempt, and he already anticipated 
that all would be lost by their silly vanity, and 
jealousy of every individual who evinced superior 
abilities. He thought, or rather affected to think, 
that he was repulsed by a sort of ostracism against 
talents ; but he would show them, he said, that he 
could be even with them. In the midst of these 
bursts of passion, and these rodomontades of 
vengeance, I easily perceived that he was much 
affected, and even distinguished the tears of vexa¬ 
tion in his eyes. I seized the earliest opportunity 
of applying a balm to the wounds of his self-love. 
I told him plainly and candidly, that his d&but had 
offended every one ; that nothing was more dan¬ 
gerous than for a deputy who, like him, might aspire 


OF MIRABEAU. 


41 


to the first rank in the assembly, to write a 
journal; that to censure the body to which he be¬ 
longed, was not the way to become a favourite with 
its members ; that if, like me, he had lived in are- 
public, and seen the concealed springs of party in¬ 
trigue, he would not so readily yield to discourage¬ 
ment ; that he should quietly suffer all the half¬ 
talents, and half-reputations to pass before him; 
that they would destroy themselves, and in the 
end, each individual would be placed according 
to his specific gravity; that he was on the greatest 
theatre in the world ; that he could not attain to 
eminence except through the assembly ; that the 
slight mortification he had undergone, would be 
more than compensated by a single successful 
day; and that if he were desirous of obtaining a 
permanent ascendency, he must follow a new 
system. This long conversation, which took place 
in the garden of Trianon, had an excellent effect. 
Mirabeau, feelingly alive to the voice of friend¬ 
ship, softened by degrees, and at length admitted 
that he was wrong. Soon after, he showed me a 
letter to his constituents, which he was about to 
publish. We read it together; it was lessbitter than 
former ones, but was still too much so. We spent 
a couple of hours in remodelling it, and entirely 


42 


RECOLLECTIONS 


changing its tone. He even consented, though with 
repugnance, to praise certain deputies, and re¬ 
present the assembly in a respectable light. We 
then agreed that he should not attempt to speak 
until some extraordinary occasion should offer. 

Mirabeau had but a slight acquaintance with 
Duroverai, but was well aware of his talents. 
He knew that Duroverai had acquired great ex¬ 
perience in conducting the political affairs of 
Geneva, had a profound knowledge of jurispru¬ 
dence, had drawn up the Genevese code of laws, 
and possessed, in the highest degree, the art of 
discussion and the routine of popular assemblies. 
All this, rendered an intimacy with him very de¬ 
sirable ; and Mirabeau, who afterwards considered 
him as his Mentor, never took a step of any 
consequence without consulting him. At Ver¬ 
sailles, we lodged at the hotel Charost. Clavi&re, 
who frequently came from Paris to see the assem¬ 
bly, had become reconciled to Mirabeau, and came 
often to our hotel, where we assembled now and 
then a few friends of our own way of thinking, 
and in particular, our countryman M. Reybaz, 
between whom and Mirabeau, we endeavoured 
to promote an intimacy. But it was some 
time before they became familiar. Reybaz, by 


OF MIRABEAU. 


43 


his coldness of manner, repulsed the • most flat¬ 
tering advances; but he at length yielded, and 
became one of Mirabeau’s most active co-opera¬ 
tors. This did not occur till several months 
after, when Mirabeau had already acquired great 
ascendency in the assembly. In this little com¬ 
mittee, I have, seen very important measures put 
in train, and I may speak of them with the more 
freedom, because I looked on rather than partici¬ 
pated in them. I had never meddled with politi¬ 
cal matters, and felt no inclination to do so. I 
had, moreover, too high an opinion of the talents 
of Duroverai and Clavi&re, not to adopt, generally, 
their way of thinking.. I was of great use in pre¬ 
venting collision between them, and in calming 
them when their prejudices, which I did not share, 
were opposed to each other. Duroverai, with 
many amiable qualities, had unpleasant asperities 
of temper, and often treated Mirabeau like a 
truant school-boy. Clavi&re, who looked for¬ 
ward to be minister of finance, was in haste to 
act, and did not willingly lend himself to Duro- 
verai’s plan of uniting Mirabeau and Necker, and 
governing, by such coalition, the whole assembly. 

Duroverai was acquainted with M. Mallouet, 
who was intimate with M. Necker, and had 


44 


RECOLLECTIONS 


rendered some services to the representatives of 
Geneva. We often dined at his house; and on one 
occasion, convinced him of the necessity of bring¬ 
ing about a conference between Mirabeau and 
M. Necker. Many objections were raised : “ Can 
Mirabeau be trusted ?”—“ Would he concert mea¬ 
sures with the minister ?”—“ Would not M. 
Necker commit himself?” Duroverai answered 
every objection, and M. de Montmorin was con¬ 
sulted. The conference took place, and Mirabeau, 
who had never before seen M. Necker, spoke 
of him, on his return, as a good kind of man, un¬ 
justly accused of possessing talent and depth of 
thought. This interview was not wholly unfruit¬ 
ful ; and the promise of an embassy to Constanti¬ 
nople, on the dissolution of the assembly, was held 
out to Mirabeau. The engagement was to be kept 
secret; and I do not think that Mirabeau, who was 
the least discreet of men, communicated it to more 
than some seven or eight persons. However, the 
King’s intentions, and those of M. Necker, were 
considered so consonant with public feeling, that a 
man who pledged himself to second them, did not 
contract an engagement contrary to the good of the 
nation. But the turn that affairs subsequently 
took, and Mirabeau’s great ascendency, soon 


OF MIRABEAU. 


45 


raised him above an embassy, and placed him in a 
situation to dictate rather than have conditions im¬ 
posed upon him. At this period, however, when 
the permanency of the states was not contem¬ 
plated, much less the destruction of the monarchy, 
the idea of an embassy pleased him much. He 
wanted to have me appointed secretary, and was 
already meditating the plan of an ottoman ency¬ 
clopaedia. 

I ought, before I related this circumstance, to 
have mentioned Mirabeau’s first triumph at the 
assembly of the tiers-Mat. I was the more af¬ 
fected by it, because it concerned Duroverai; and 
never was the most dreadful state of anxiety suc¬ 
ceeded by more intense joy, than on this occa¬ 
sion. Duroverai was seated in the hall of the as¬ 
sembly, with some deputies of his acquaintance. 
He had occasion to pass to Mirabeau, a note writ¬ 
ten with a pencil. M...., who was already one 
of the most formidable declaimers of the assem¬ 
bly, saw this, and asked the member next him, 
who that stranger was, that was passing notes and 
interfering with their proceedings. The answer 
he received was a stimulus to his zeal. He rose, 
and in a voice of thunder, stated, that a foreigner, 
banished from his native country, and residing in 


46 


RECOLLECTIONS 


England, from whose government he received a 
pension, was seated among them, assisting at their 
debates, and transmitting notes and observations 
to the deputies of their assembly. The agitation 
on every side of the hall, which succeeded this 
denunciation, would have appeared to me less si¬ 
nister, had it been the forerunner of an earth¬ 
quake. Confused cries were heard of, “ Who is 
he?”—“Where is he?”—“Let him be pointed 
out!” Fifty members spoke at once; but Mira- 
beau’s powerful voice soon obtained silence. He 
declared that he would himself point out the fo¬ 
reigner, and denounce him to the assembly. 
“ This exile,” said he, “ in the pay of England, is 
M. Duroverai, of Geneva; and know, that this 
respectable man, whom you have so wantonly in¬ 
sulted, is a martyr to liberty; that as attorney- 
general of the republic of Geneva, he incurred the 
indignation of our visirs, by his zealous defence 
of his fellow citizens; that a lettre de cachet , is¬ 
sued by M. de Vergennes, deprived him of the 
office he had but too honourably filled ; and when 
his native city was brought under the yoke of the 
aristocracy, he obtained the honors of exile. 
Know further, that the crime of this enlightened 
and virtuous citizen, consisted in having prepared 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


47 


a code of laws, in which he had abolished odious 
privileges.”* 

* This is the speech as Mirabeau uttered it:—“ I think with 
the gentleman who spoke last, that no individual, not a deputy, 
whether he be a foreigner or a native, ought to be seated among 
us. But the sacred ties of friendship, the still more holy claims 
of humanity, and the respect I have for this assembly of patriots, 
and friends of peace, render it an imperious duty on my part, to 
separate from the simple question of order, the odious accusation 
which he has had the assurance to couple with it. He has dared 
to assert, that among the numerous strangers who are assisting at 
our proceedings, there is an exile;—one who has taken refuge in 
England, and is in the pay of the King of Great Britain. Now, 
this stranger, this exile, this refugee, is M. Duroverai, of Geneva, 
one of the most respectable citizens in the world. Never had 
freedom a more enlightened, a more laborious, or a more disinte¬ 
rested advocate ! From his youth he was appointed by his coun¬ 
trymen to assist in the framing of a code of laws, intended to place 
the constitution of his country on a permanent basis. Nothing 
was more beautiful, nothing more philosophically political, than the 
law in favour of the natives. He was one of its framers. This 
law, so little known, yet so deserving of general attention, esta¬ 
blishes the following principle : ‘ That all republics have perished, 
nay more, deserved to perish, for having oppressed the people, 
and not having known that they who govern, can preserve their 
own liberty, only by respecting that of their brethren.’ Elected 
attorney-general of Geneva, by the unanimous voice of his fellow 
citizens, M. Duroverai incurred, from that moment, the hatred of 
the aristocrats. They swore his ruin; and certain that this in- 


48 


RECOLLECTIONS 


The impression produced by this speech, of 
which the above is only an abstract, was elec¬ 
trical. It was succeeded by a universal burst of 
applause. Nothing that resembled this force and 


trepid magistrate, would never cease to employ the authority of his 
office, in defence of the independence of his country, they suc¬ 
ceeded in obtaining his dismissal through the interference of a des¬ 
potic minister. But even in the midst of party hatred, and the in¬ 
trigues of base factions, M.Duroverai’s character was respected even 
by calumny itself, whose foul breath never sullied a single action of 
his life. Included in the proscription which the aristocrats ob¬ 
tained from the destroyers of Genevese independence, he retired to 
England, and will, doubtless, never abdicate the honors of exile, 
until freedom shall once more resume her sway at Geneva. A 
large number of the most respectable citizens of Great Britain 
took up the cause of the proscribed republican, procured him the 
most flattering reception in their country, and induced their go¬ 
vernment to grant him a pension. This was a species of civic crown, 
awarded by that modern people, whom the tutelar genius of the 
human race seems especially to have appointed to guard and offi¬ 
ciate at the altars of freedom....! Behold then the stranger, 
the exile, the refugee, who has been denounced to you ! Formerly 
the persecuted man sought refuge at the altar, where he found an 
inviolable asylum, and escaped from the rage of the wicked. The 
hall in which we are now assembled, is the temple which, in 
the name of Frenchmen, you are raising to liberty; and will you 
suffer it to be polluted by an outrage committed upon a martyr of 
liberty ?”—Note by Dumont. 



OF AIIRA BEAU. 


49 


dignity of elocution had ever been heard before 
in the tumultuous assembly of the tiers-ktat. 
Mirabeau was deeply moved at this first success. 
Duroverai was immediately surrounded by depu¬ 
ties who, by their kind attentions, endeavoured 
to atone for the insult they had offered him. Thus, 
an accusation which had, at first, filled me with 
consternation, terminated so much the more to 
my satisfaction, that the knowledge of this scene 
at Geneva, could not fail to promote the recall of 
her exiled citizens. Of course this act of cou¬ 
rage, this transport of justice and friendship 
was not lost upon us, and our connexion was 
strengthened by the ties of gratitude. If Mira¬ 
beau had always served the public cause with 
the same ardour as he did that of his friend—if 
he had shown a zeal equally noble, in putting a 
stop to the calumnies uttered from the tribune, 
he would have become the saviour of his 
country. 

I have but an imperfect recollection of the 
early proceedings of the assembly, during the 
dispute of the orders ; but I cannot forget the oc¬ 
casion on which a man, who afterwards acquired 
a fatal celebrity, first brought himself into notice. 
The clergy were endeavouring, by a subterfuge, 

E 


50 


RECOLLECTIONS 


to obtain a meeting of the orders; and for this 
purpose, deputed the Archbishop of Aix to the 
tiers-4tat . This prelate expatiated very pathe¬ 
tically upon the distresses of the people, and the 
poverty of the country parishes. He produced a 
piece of black bread, which a dog would have 
rejected, but which the poor were obliged to eat 
or starve. He besought the tiers-dtat to depute 
some members to confer with those deputed by 
the nobility and clergy, upon the means of better¬ 
ing the condition of the indigent classes. The 
tiers-etat perceived the snare, but dared not 
openly reject the proposal, as it would render 
them unpopular with the lower classes; when a 
deputy rose, and after professing sentiments in 
favour of the poor still stronger than those of the 
prelate, adroitly threw doubts upon the sincerity 
of the intentions avowed by the clergy. 

“ Go,” said he to the archbishop, “ and tell 
your colleagues, that if they are so impatient to 
assist the suffering poor, they had better come 
hither and join the friends of the people. Tell 
them no longer to embarrass our proceedings 
with affected delays ;—tell them no longer to 
endeavour, by unworthy means, to make us 
swerve from the resolutions we have taken ; but 


OF MIKA BEAU. 


51 


as ministers of religion—as worthy imitators of 
their masters—let them forego that luxury which 
surrounds them, and that splendour which puts 
indigence to the blush ;—let them resume the 
modesty of their origin—discharge the proud 
lackeys by whom they are attended—sell their 
superb equipages, and convert all their super¬ 
fluous wealth into food for the indigent.’’ 

This speech, which coincided so well with the 
passions of the time, did not elicit loud applause, 
which would have been a bravado and out of 
place, but was succeeded by a murmur much 
more flattering : “ Who is he ?” was the general 
question; but he was unknown ; and it was not 
until some time had elapsed, that a name was 
circulated which, three years later, made France 
tremble. The speaker was Robespierre. Rey- 
baz, who was seated next to me, observed, “This 
young man has not yet practised ; he is too wordy, 
and does not know when to stop, but he has a 
store of eloquence and bitterness which will not 
leave him in the crowd.” 

I had become acquainted with several deputies, 
and I often dined with the Bishop of Chartres, 
to whom I had been introduced by Brissot and 
Clavikre. I used to meet, at the house of this 

£ 2 


52 


RECOLLECTIONS 


prelate, his grand vicar, the Abb6 Sieyes, but did 
not form any intimacy with him. He was a very 
absent man, did not encourage familiarity, and 
was by no means of an open disposition. He 
gave his opinion, but without discussion ; and if 
any one raised an objection, he made no reply. 
His works had earned him a high reputation. 
He was considered the oracle of the tiers-etat, 
and the most formidable enemy of privileges. He 
was easily moved to anger, and seemed to enter¬ 
tain the most profound contempt for the present 
order of society. I thought this friend of liberty 
must of course like the English, and I sounded 
him on this subject; but with surprise I dis¬ 
covered that he deemed the English constitution 
a mere piece of quackery, got up to impose upon 
the multitude. He seemed to listen to me as if 
I were uttering absurdities, while I detailed the 
divers modifications of this system, and the 
disguised, though real checks upon the three 
estates composing the legislature. All influence 
possessed by the crown was, in his eyes, venality, 
and opposition a mere trick. The only thing 
which he admired in England, was trial by jury ; 
but he badly understood its principles, which is 
the case with every Frenchman, and had formed 


OF Mill A BEAU. 


53 


very erroneous notions on the subject. In a 
word, he considered the English as tyros in 
framing constitutions, and that he could give a 
much better one than theirs to France*. 

I inquired of the Bishop of Chartres and M. Las- 
seney concerning Sieyes’ habits, studies, and the 
manner in which he had acquired his knowledge ; 
for it was easy to perceive that he was self-edu¬ 
cated. Nothing remained of his acquirements at his 
theological seminary or at the Sorbonne. It appears 
that at Chartres, where he always spent the greater 
part of the summer, he lived like a recluse, because 
he did not like provincial society, and would put 
himself out of the way for nobody. He read little, 
but meditated a great deal. The works he preferred 

* I must not forget one of the most characteristic traits with 
which my memory supplies me, relative to the Abbe Sieyes. 
One day, after having breakfasted at M. de Talleyrand’s, we 
walked together for a considerable time in the garden of the 
Tuileries. The Abbe Sieyes was more disposed to talk and more 
communicative than usual. In a moment of familiarity and 
effusion of heart, after having spoken of his studies, his works, 
and his manuscripts, he uttered these words, which struck me 
forcibly : “ Politics are a science in which I think I am perfect.” 
Had he ever measured the outline, or formed a conception of the 
extent and difficulty of a complete legislation, he would not have 
made such an assertion; and presumption, in this case, as in any 
other, is the surest test of ignorance .—Note by Dumont. 


54 


RECOLLECTIONS 


were Rousseau’s “ Contrat Social ,” the writings of 
Condillac, and Adam Smith’s “ Wealth of Na¬ 
tions.” He had written much, but could not 
bear the work of revision. He fancied he did 
not possess what is called the knack of writing; 
he envied Mirabeau’s power and facility in this 
respect, and would willingly have confided his 
manuscripts to any one capable of giving them that 
last polish which he felt to be beyond his power. 
He was little moved by the charms of women, which 
perhaps originated in a weak andsickly constitution, 
but was passionately fond of music, with the theory 
of which he was conversant, besides being an 
excellent performer. This is all I was able to 
collect concerning his character and habits. At 
the period I am speaking of, he might be con¬ 
sidered the real leader of the tiers-etat , although 
no one made less display. But his work on the 
4 ‘ Means of Execution,” &c. had pointed out the 
line of conduct to be pursued by the assembly, 
and it was he who exploded the term tiers-etat 
to substitute in its stead that of the commons *. 

* Active and ardent in his party, he caused more to be 
done by others than he did himself. He laid down the plan of the 
battle, but remained in his tent during the combat. Girardin 
said of him, “He is to a party what a mole is to a grass-plot, he 
labours and raises it.”—-Note by Dumont. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


55 


The Bishop of Chartres was one of the prelates 
attached to the popular party; that is to say, he 
was favourable to the union of the orders, the vote 
by individual numbers, and a new constitution. 
He was neither a politician nor a man of profound 
learning; but had much good faith and can¬ 
dour, and suspected nothing wrong. He could 
not imagine, in the tiers-etat, any other views 
than the reform of abuses and the public good. 
A stranger to intrigue and sincere in his inten¬ 
tions, he followed the dictates of his conscience, 
and was acted upon by the purest sense of duty. 
In religion, as in politics, he was a believer, but 
tolerant, and was much rejoiced at seeing the 
removal of the protestant disabilities. He ex¬ 
pected that the clergy would be called upon to 
make great sacrifices, but did not anticipate that 
they would become victims of the revolution. I 
saw him when the property of the church was 
declared national property. I found him, one 
day, with tears in his eyes, discharging his ser¬ 
vants, reducing his hospitable establishment, and 
preparing to sell his jewels for the liquidation of 
his debts. He assuaged his grief by entering 
with me, into the most confidential details. His 
regret was not selfish ; but he accused himself of 
having submitted to be made a dupe of by the 


56 


RECOLLECTIONS 


tiers-dtat , whose interests he had embraced and 
who, as soon as they became strong, had violated 
the engagements they had contracted during their 
weakness. It was indeed painful to an honest and 
well-meaning man, to have contributed to the suc¬ 
cess of so unjust a party ; but never could blame 
attach less to any individual than to the Bishop of 
Chartres. I cannot but mention two anecdotes 
of this worthy prelate, which I never think of 
without admiration. During the first insurrec¬ 
tions, he was deputed by the assembly to pro¬ 
ceed to a village near Versailles, and endeavour 
to save the life of an unfortunate baker, named 
Thomassin, against whom the people were furious. 
The venerable Bishop had exhausted all the 
means of reason and persuasion, but to no purpose. 
He saw the ferocious savages seize the unhappy 
wretch to tear him to pieces. He had not an 
instant to lose. Without hesitation, he threw 
himself upon his knees in a deep mire, and called 
upon the assassins to kill him also, rather than 
force him to witness so atrocious a crime. The 
frenzied multitude of men and women, struck 
with respect at this action, drew back an instant, 
and gave the bishop time to help into his carriage, 
the wounded and bleeding Thomassin. 

The other anecdote cannot be compared to 


OF MI II ABE A U. 


57 


this ; but it serves to show his excessive delicacy 
and high probity. At a period when pretended 
national reforms had reduced so many individuals 
to distress, he had purchased, in the street, a 
gold box at a very low price. On his return 
home, he perceived that the box was worth much 
more than he had paid for it. Uneasy at his 
purchase, and fearful of having taken an undue 
advantage of the wants of the seller, he did not 
rest until he had found him out and given him 
several louis-d’or in addition to what he had 
already paid, although he would have preferred 
to return the box which, at that price, was no 
longer in unison with a situation he already 
perceived to be inevitable. “ But,” said he, “ if 
I return the box, his wants may force him to sell 
it at a lower price than I first paid. This is but a 
small sacrifice, and it is perhaps the last I shall 
have it in my power to make.” To conclude what 
I have to say about this excellent man,—when, 
after his emigration, he was residing in a village 
in Germany, the Marquis of Lansdowne, who had 
known him at Spa, sent him anonymously, a 
letter of credit for a hundred pounds. But he 
would not at first accept it, declaring that if he 
were unable to discharge such a debt, he would at 


58 


RECOLLECTIONS 


least know his benefactor, for he did not chuse 
to be exempted from gratitude. I had the satis¬ 
faction of being the interpreter of Lord Lans- 
downe’s sentiments on this occasion, and of testi¬ 
fying to him, under his misfortunes, that respect 
and esteem still entertained towards him by every 
person who had known him during his prosperity. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


59 


CHAPTER IV. 


More than a month had elapsed in this state 
of suspense. Sieyes thought it was high time to 
send a positive summons to the nobility and 
clergy, and, on their refusal, to proceed to the 
verification of powers, and put the commons into 
a state of activity. But this apparent loss of 
time had been turned to profit by the deputies of 
the tiers-Mat. 

They had obtained public favour. The other 
two orders were divided among themselves, and 
the votes among the clergy nearly equalized. 
The people who saw only the surface of things 
considered the nobility and clergy as too obstinate 
to enter into any arrangement, they having al¬ 
ready refused to assemble in the same hall as the 


60 


RECOLLECTIONS 


deputies of the tiers-^t at. The inhabitants of 
Versailles were in the habit of insulting*, in the 
street and at the doors of the assembly, those 
whom they termed aristocrats , a term which, like 
all other party expressions, subsequently acquired 
a most direful influence. 

What surprises me is, that there was no counter 
designation to distinguish the opposite party, then 
called the nation. The effect of the latter term, 
placed in the balance with the other, may readily 
be conceived. The people of Paris, so easy to 
govern and so indolent in their state of repose, 
became by degrees filled, like a balloon, with 
inflammable gas. 

Though the commons began already to feel 
their strength, there were many different opinions 
on the manner of bringing it into use, and on the 
name which should be taken by the assembly, as 
a collective body. The audacity afterwards 
shown, was then only in embryo. Every man 
of forethought judged that the most important con¬ 
sequences would result from the decision of such 
a question. To call themselves a national assem¬ 
bly , would be to depreciate, to the lowest degree, 
the King, the nobles, and the clergy ;—it would, 
if the government displayed any vigour, prove the 


OF MIRABEAU. 


61 


beginning of civil war. To vote themselves simply 
an assembly of the commons would, on the other 
hand, be only expressing an undoubted fact, and 
would not force the nobles and clergy to join 
them ; it merely maintained the subdivisions of the 
assembly then existing. Several titles were pro¬ 
posed as modifications of these two; for each mem¬ 
ber endeavoured to conceal his views and preten¬ 
sions ; and even Sieyes himself, who rejected 
every thing tending to maintain the orders, did not 
dare at once to propose the decisive term of national 
assembly . He first suggested an ambiguous deno¬ 
mination, implying but not expressing that idea; 
nor was it till after a debate of two or three days, 
that he ventured to pass the Rubicon, and get the 
motion made by a deputy called Legrand. There 
was an immediate and general call for putting it 
to the vote, and this voting, which lasted till very 
late at night, had something sombre and awful. 
The galleries had, with great difficulty, been 
forced to absolute silence. There were eighty 
votes against, the denomination of national as¬ 
sembly, and nearly five hundred in its favour. 

I have reserved, to mention separately, the part 
taken by Mirabeau in this debate. The question 
had already been discussed in our little society. 
The danger of a scission with the court and the 


62 


RECOLLECTIONS 


nobles; the evil of opening the states-general by 
a rupture between the orders; the necessity of 
recurring to violent measures to support this first 
step and overcome resistance ; all these considera¬ 
tions were duly weighed ;—but what had still more 
influence over us, was that we bore in mind the En¬ 
glish constitution which we took for our model, and 
the division of the legislature into two branches 
appeared to us far preferable to a single assembly 
over whom there could be no check. Though we 
ultimately adopted this opinion, it was no easy mat¬ 
ter to get Mirabeau to support it as his own. It 
was against the popular torrent; and it required 
courage to commence a determined and systema¬ 
tic opposition to Sieyes, the Bretons and the Pa¬ 
lais Royal, and brave the calumnies, clamours 
and suspicions which such an apparent deviation 
from democratic principles might produce. But 
Mirabeau possessed, in a high degree, the courage 
produced by excitement, and was endowed with 
great presence of mind. He had no objection to 
an opposition of Mat; was not pleased with Sieyes, 
who did not flatter him ; and had sufficient confi¬ 
dence in himself to think, that he could redeem his 
popularity, should he be deprived of it by the opi¬ 
nion he was about to advocate. In presenting his 
motion, he paid many flattering compliments to the 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


63 


dominant party, abused the privileged orders, 
and concluded by proposing that the commons 
should be designated by the title of assembly of 
the French people. 

This motion, not very well understood at first, 
was not strongly opposed ; but when Mallouet, 
who passed for a ministerial, was seen to support 
it, and was bringing the moderates to his way 
of thinking, the popular party, in alarm, com¬ 
menced a violent attack on Mirabeau. The word 
people , which had at first appeared synonymous 
with the word nation , was now placed in another 
light, as having been invented to form opposition 
with the nobility and clergy who were not the 
people , and pretended to be above them. Invec¬ 
tives were not spared; the author of the motion 
was termed an aristocrat in disguise who had in¬ 
sidiously endeavoured, by this title, to villify the 
true representatives of the French nation. The 
tempest, increasing by degrees, seemed to burst 
with tenfold fury. I was then in one of the galle¬ 
ries talking to Lord Elgin, a young Scottish noble¬ 
man who much admired Mirabeau’s motion. In¬ 
dignant at the absurdities uttered about the word 
people , I was unable to resist the pleasure of 
writing what I should myself have said, had I 
been member of the assembly. After discussing 


64 


RECOLLECTIONS 


the question I wrote with a pencil a sort of apos¬ 
trophe intended as a peroration. It was addressed 
to those pretended friends of liberty who fancied 
themselves degraded at being called deputies of 
the people. This sketch, very rapidly written, 
was not wanting in force and elevation. Lord 
Elgin begged I would permit him to read it, and as 
I had no ultimate view in writing it, I showed him 
the paper with which he appeared much pleased. 

The dinner hour suspended the sitting. I dined 
at Mirabeau’s. Duroverai reproached him with 
the weakness of his speech, and proved to him 
that he had neglected the strongest and most con¬ 
vincing arguments. I showed him my sketch, 
and the peroration appeared to him so conclusive, 
that he instantly determined, he said, “ to throw 
that burning tile at their heads.” “ This is im¬ 
possible” said I, “ for I showed it to Lord Elgin, 
who was next to me in the gallery.” “ And what 
difference does that make?” replied Mirabeau; 
“ had you shown it to the whole world, I should 
certainly quote it as the passage best adapted to 
the subject.” 

Duroverai, who had an extraordinary desire 
that this motion should succeed, began to write 
a refutation of all the arguments used against 
it. Mirabeau copied as fast as he could, and 


OF MIKABEAU. 


65 


the result was a tolerably complete oration, 
for the delivery of which, it was only necessary 
to be allowed to speak. He found much diffi¬ 
culty in obtaining a hearing; but the galleries were 
so fond of listening to him that the assembly durst 
not persist in a refusal. The exordium which 
I had written, excited a tolerable degree of at¬ 
tention—the argumentative part passed off with 
alternate murmurs and applause—but the pe¬ 
roration, which he delivered in a voice of thunder, 
and which was heard with a species of ter¬ 
ror, produced an extraordinary effect. It was 
succeeded, not by cries, but by convulsions of 
rage. The agitation was general and a storm 
of invectives burst upon the speaker from all 
parts of the hall. But he stood, calm and un¬ 
moved, whilst I, the poor author of this un¬ 
happy attempt, remained petrified in a corner, 
lamenting an error of judgment so fatal to my 
friend and cause.* 


* The following is the peroration. “ I persevere in my mo¬ 
tion and in its only expression that has called forth animadversion. 
—I mean the denomination of French people. I adopt it, I defend 
it, and I proclaim it for the very reason urged in objection to it.— 
Yes! it is because the term people is not sufficiently respected in 
France, that it is cast into the shade and covered with the rust 


F 


RECOLLECTIONS 


G6 

When the tumult had somewhat subsided, 
Mirabeau, in a grave and solemn tone, thus ad- 


of prejudice ; — because it presents an idea alarming to our 
pride and revolting to our vanity — and is pronounced with 
contempt in the chamber of the aristocrats. It is for these very 
reasons, gentlemen, that I could wish, (and we ought to im¬ 
pose the task upon ourselves,) not only to elevate but to en¬ 
noble the name, and thus render it respectable to ministers, and 
dear to every heart. If this title were not, in fact, already ours, 
it ought to be selected from amongst every other, and its adoption 
considered the most valuable opportunity of serving that people 
from whom we derive our authority—that people whose repre¬ 
sentatives we are—whose rights we defend—and yet, whose name, 
as forming our own denomination and title, would seem to raise 
the blush of shame on our cheeks.—Oh! how should I exult 
if, by the choice of such a title, firmness and courage were 
restored to a trodden-down people! My mind is elevated by 
the contemplation in futurity, of the happy results which may 
proceed from the use of this name ! The people will look up 
to us, and we to the people; and our title will remind us of 
our duties and of our strength. Under the shelter of a name 
which neither startles nor alarms us, we can sow and cultivate 
the seeds of liberty;—we can avert those fatal blasts that would 
nip it in the bud; and if we so protect its growth, our descen¬ 
dants will sit under the vivifying shade of its wide-spreading 
branches.—Representatives of the people! vouchsafe to answer 
me! Will you go and tell your constituents that you have 
rejected this name of people ?—that if you are not ashamed 
of them, you have, at all events, endeavoured to elude using 


OF MIRABEAU. 


67 


dressed the president : “ Sir, I depose upon 

your table the speech which has elicited such 
strong marks of disapprobation, because it has 

their name, which, does not appear to you a sufficiently flatter¬ 
ing title?—that you want a more fastuous denomination than 
they could confer upon you ? Gentlemen ! do you not perceive 
that the title of representatives of the people is absolutely ne¬ 
cessary, inasmuch as it will insure to you the attachment of 
the people, that imposing mass, without which you would he 
nothing but single individuals—nothing but slender reeds which 
might easily be broken one by one ? Do you not see that you 
require the word people, because it shows the people that you have 
united your fate to theirs; and it will teach them to centre in 
you all their thoughts and all their hopes !—The Batavian he¬ 
roes, who founded the liberties of their country, were more able 
tacticians than we are. They adopted the denomination of gueux 
or beggarly fellows;—they chose this title, because their tyrants 
had endeavoured to cast it upon them as a term of opprobrium; and 
this designation, by attaching to their party, that numerous and 
powerful class so degraded by the despotism of the aristocracy, 
was, at the same time, their glory, their strength, and the pledge 
of their success. The friends of freedom select the name which 
is most useful to them, and not that by which they are the most 
flattered. They are called remonstrators in America, shepherds 
in Switzerland and gueux in the Low Countries. They consider 
the terms of reproach applied to them by their enemies, as their 
proudest boast; for they deprive such terms of all power of hu¬ 
miliation, the moment they have succeeded in coupling them with 
honourable deeds !—Note by the Genevese Editor. 

T? 

J< 


68 


RECOLLECTIONS 


not been properly understood. I consent to be 
judged, on the merits of its contents, by all the 
friends of liberty.” So saying he left the hall 
amid threats and furious imprecations. 

I called on Mirabeau an hour after. I was 
overcome by feelings of dread and disappointment, 
but I found him triumphant, and reading his 
speech to some inhabitants of Marseilles who 
were expressing the most enthusiastic admira¬ 
tion of it. I must confess that he paid back 
to the assembly, the slights he had received 
from them. He compared them to wild asses* 
who had obtained from nature no other faculty 
than that of kicking and biting. “ They did 
not frighten me, my dear friend,” said he in a 
prophetic tone, “ and in a week, you shall see me 
more powerful than ever. They must come to 
me, when they find themselves about to be over¬ 
whelmed by the tempest they have themselves 
raised. Regret not therefore the events of this 
evening. The thinkers will see something very pro¬ 
found in my motion. As for the fools, I despise 
them too much to hate them, and will save them 
in spite of themselves.” With all this excess of 
pride and temporary courage, he had not suf¬ 
ficient firmness to attend at the call of the house . 


OF MIRABEAU. 


69 


He did not, therefore, vote upon the question ; 
and thus it was that his name did not appear 
on the list of the eighty deputies held up, to 
the people, as traitors sold to the aristocracy. 
Even his popularity did not suffer at the Palais 
Royal, whilst Mallouet, Mounier and several 
others who had maintained the same opinion less 
openly, were delivered over to popular censure. 

On the following day, when Sieyes appeared 
in the hall, all the members, from a spontaneous 
feeling of respect, rose to receive him, and ap¬ 
plause thundered from every side. “ How con¬ 
temptible !” said Mirabeau. “ Do they imagine 
that all is over ? I should not be surprised if 
civil war were the fruit of their wise decree.” 

The nobles were confounded at the audaci¬ 
ty of the tiers-etat. They who had access to 
the King, told him that all would be lost, if he 
did not oppose this usurpation on the part of 
the commons. The debates in the chamber of 
the nobility, were scenes of enfuriated madness. 
The decree of the tiers-6tat was termed an out¬ 
rage, treachery, high treason. The frenzy was at 
its height; and the King ought to have called 
all his faithful subjects to defend him, put him- 


70 


RECOLLECTIONS 


self at the head of his troops, ordered the se¬ 
ditious to be arrested, and dissolved the assembly. 

The cause of the events which followed,. was 
to be traced to the excitement of party spirit, 
and to the violent language which resulted from 
it. It is necessary to have witnessed this 
ferment to comprehend what followed. Many 
historical facts, stripped of the circumstances 
by which they were prepared, seem inexpli¬ 
cable. The atmosphere at Versailles was dark 
and scorching; and the explos’on which was ex¬ 
pected to follow, must needs be terrible. 

At this juncture, Duroverai conceived a plan 
which he mentioned to M. Mallouet, but feared 
to confide to the indiscretion of Mirabeau, in 
whom neither party had any confidence. This 
plan was, that the King should sit as the pro¬ 
visional legislator of France, and annul the de¬ 
cree of the commons which constituted them a 
national assembly; but that, at the same time, 
he should order the nobles and clergy to join 
the tiers-Mat for the joint verification of their 
powers, and proceed in concert for the future. 
The object of this sitting was, therefore, to do 
by royal authority that which the commons 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


71 


had effected by setting aside the King’s power ; 
and to decree the union of the nobles and clergy 
with the tiers-etat , in order that this union should 
emanate from the King, and not from the com¬ 
mons. This was intended only to save appear¬ 
ances, for the result would be the same. But by 
this measure, the nobility would not appear at the 
assembly under circumstances humiliating to 
their pride, and it would, moreover, put an end to 
those violent disputes between the three orders, 
which could only end either in the triumph of the 
commons, by means of a popular movement, or 
in the dissolution of the assembly, which would 
be the precursor of a civil war. 

Mallouet entered warmly into Duroverai’s plan, 
and brought M. Necker to the same way of 
thinking; but there was no direct communication 
between the latter and Duroverai. 

The plan of the royal session was adopted by 
the King, but M. Necker’s arguments in its favor 
were made subservient to a modification which 
certainly he never intended. After an animated 
discussion in the council, the Count d’Artois and 
his party triumphed ; and it was resolved that 
the decree of the commons should be annulled, 
but without enjoining a union of the orders. 


72 


RECOLLECTIONS 


Thus was the real object of the measure done 
away, and nothing but its form remained. M. 
Necker had aimed at combining democracy with 
royalty; but this measure had only invested 
aristocracy with despotism. The forms of au¬ 
thority which, with propriety, might be used 
to ennoble a necessary act of condescension, be¬ 
came revolting, when employed in an act of 
violence which the King had no means of follow¬ 
up. Not but the royal session in itself, when 
fairly considered, will be found to contain the 
strongest concessions which monarch ever made 
to his subjects; and which, at any other period, 
would have called forth their warmest gratitude. 
When a prince is powerful, every thing he grants 
is a gift, every thing he does not take, is a favor ; 
but if he be weak, that which he grants is only a 
<debt due—that which he refuses to comply with, 
an injustice. 

The commons determined to be a national 
assembly. Nothing less would satisfy them. If 
the government chose to oppose this, they should 
have prepared the means of doing so; but to 
annul the decrees, and excite popular ferment, 
without taking a single precaution, without even 
having a party in the assembly, was an act of 


OF MIRABEAU. 


73 


madness which led to the overthrow of the 
monarchy. Nothing is more dangerous than to 
stimulate a weak man to acts beyond his 
strength ; for when resistance to his will has 
shown his real weakness, he has no resource left. 
Thus was the royal authority degraded, and even 
the people discovered the secret of the King’s 
want of power. 

The measures attendant upon the royal session 
were as badly combined as if they had related to 
the acts of unruly school-boys. The hall of the 
states-general was closed for three or four days. 
A display of soldiers imparted to this measure 
the appearance of violence. The deputies, driven 
from their hall at the point of the bayonet, met in 
the famous Jeu-de-Paume , or Tennis-court, where 
they swore never to separate until they had ob¬ 
tained a constitution. 

Even the eighty members forming the minority 
who had opposed the decree, took this oath ; for 
being ignorant of what was going on, they ima¬ 
gined that the King was about to dissolve the 
states-general; and Mirabeau, then laboring under 
the same mistake, spoke so energetically against 
such dissolution, that even his greatest enemies 
began to look upon him as a giant, whose 


74 


RECOLLECTIONS 


strength, in the present crisis of affairs, had 
become necessary to them. This scene,—where 
fear was masked by an appearance of bold deter¬ 
mination—where the most timid became the most 
violent—must have been witnessed to convey an 
adequate conception of the evils it produced in 
the course of the revolution. The alarmed de¬ 
puties were for ever alienated from the King’s 
government; the oath was a tie of honour, and 
from that day, the deputies of the tiers-dtat were 
confederated against the royal authority. This 
appearance of persecution redoubled the popu¬ 
larity of the commons, and the Parisians were 
alarmed at their danger. The Palais-Royal was 
a scene of absolute frenzy ; and dark rumours 
seemed to menace the lives of some of the most 
distinguished individuals at court. In a hazy 
horizon, objects cannot be seen as they really 
are. The alarmed populace became suspicious 
and active, nor could any subsequent conciliatory 
measures of the court, restore the public con¬ 
fidence. Such was the true origin of that 
burning excitement so carefully kept alive by two 
classes of men, the factious and the timid. 

The day after the meeting at the Jeu-de-Paume , 
the deputies, still excluded from their hall, in 


OF MIIIABEAU. 


75 


which preparations were being made for the 
King’s sitting, presented themselves at the door 
of several churches, but were not admitted. 
The sight of the representatives of the nation 
thus seeking an asylum and finding none, in¬ 
creased the popular discontent. At length they 
entered the church of St. Louis, where a doubtful 
majority of the clergy, headed by the Archbishop 
of Vienne, the Archbishop of Bordeaux, and the 
Bishop of Chartres, joined the deputies of the 
tiers-etat amid transports, which the approaching 
danger rendered sincere. Greetings, applauses, 
pathetic speeches, and even tears, announced 
that all were united heart and hand against a 
common peril; and the conduct of the clergy, on 
this occasion, was the more meritorious because it 
was voluntary. Who would have anticipated, 
at this period, that very shortly after, an eccle¬ 
siastic would be unable to appear in public with¬ 
out suffering the most degrading insults ! 

On the day of the royal session, I went to the 
palace to witness the splendid pageant. I 
well remember the hostile and triumphant looks 
of many individuals, in their way to the chateau. 
They thought their victory sure. I saw the 
King’s ministers, whose emotions, though they 


76 


RECOLLECTIONS 


affected unconcern, was but too apparent. The 
attitude of the Count d’Artois was haughty; the 
King seemed pensive and sad. The crowd was 
great, and the silence profound. When the King 
got into his carriage, there were rolling of drums 
and flourishes of trumpets, but not a sign of 
approbation from the people, and fear alone pre¬ 
vented an explosion of popular discontent. At 
length the vast procession began to move. The 
royal household and its officers, the guards, 
infantry and cavalry, proceeded towards the hall 
of the states-general, in which the three orders 
assembled were defying each other with looks of 
mute indignation, and impatiently awaiting the 
result of this important day. Never had passions 
so violent and so diametrically opposed to each 
other, been before pent up in so small a space. 
The ceremony was precisely the same as on the 
opening of the states-general, but what a dif¬ 
ference was there in the feelings of the assembly ! 
The day of the first ceremony was a national 
festival,—the regeneration of political freedom; 
but now, the same pomp which had delighted 
every eye, was covered with a veil of terror. 
The sumptuous dresses of the nobles, the mag¬ 
nificence of regal state, and the splendour of 


OF Milt A BEAU. 


77 


royal pageantry, seemed the accompaniment of 
a funeral procession. 

I was not present at the sitting, and have 
obtained my knowledge of what passed from the 
recital of others ; but I know, that when the 
King and nobles had withdrawn, the commons 
attempted to disguise their consternation. They 
began to perceive the consequences of the de¬ 
cree they had so unheedingly promulgated, and 
found that they had now no other alternative than 
to subjugate the monarchy, or basely recall their 
act. No one had yet attempted to speak, when 
a message from the King ordered them to sepa¬ 
rate. It was then that Mirabeau uttered those 
famous words which form an epoch in the re¬ 
volution, and which roused the sunken spirits of 
the assembly.* The deliberation assumed a de¬ 
cisive character, and the royal sitting was termed 
a bed of justice. This called to mind how the 
parliaments had always acted on such emer¬ 
gencies—how often the latter had dared to annul 
the orders given to them by the King in person, 
and succeeded, by their perseverance, in triumph- 

* ** Go, tell your master, that we are here by the power of the 
people, and nothing but the force of bayonets shall drive us 
hence! ” 


78 


RECOLLECTIONS 


ing over the court. Before the deputies separated, 
they confirmed their decree, and renewed the 
oath of the Jeu-de-Paume; and scarcely had the 
King entered the palace, when the proceedings of 
the royal session were cancelled. 

One circumstance which encouraged the resist¬ 
ance of the deputies, was that M. Necker had not 
attended the King on this occasion. He was the 
only minister not present, and his absence seemed 
to mark his disapprobation of the measure. His 
popularity thence prodigiously increased, and the 
people considered him as their safe-guard against 
the storm. The assembly, who afterwards be¬ 
came jealous of the people’s affection for him, 
because they wanted to engross it all to them¬ 
selves, felt it their interest at that period, 
to make him a public idol, and, with his name, to 
counterbalance the court. His absence, however, 
originated in a very simple cause. There was a 
certain M. de Riol, who called himself a Chevalier 
and wore some Swedish order,—a very significant 
personage, who contrived to thrust himself every 
where. Although a subaltern, he lived on terms 
of great familiarity with M. Necker. We had 
become acquainted with this individual, who 
called upon us on the very day of the royal session. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


79 


He assured us that he had found M. Necker on the 
point of settingout for M. de Montmorin’s, in order 
to proceed to the palace, and accompany the King 
to the assembly ; but that he (Riol) conjured him 
to do no such thing, as he would inevitably have 
to share in the odium of the measure, and would 
be unable to do any good in future. Riol added, 
that he had carried his zeal so far as to tell 
Necker he would rather break one of his arms or 
legs, than suffer him to proceed ; and that 
Madame Necker, in great agitation, having joined 
her entreaties to his, M. Necker at last yielded. 
1 have no reason either to doubt or to confirm this 
fact; but if it be true, M. Necker suffered his 
determination, on so important a matter, to be 
influenced by a very insignificant personage.* 
It is, however, certain, that a witless man often 
communicates his fears in a more persuasive 
manner than an intellectual one ; and his gestures 

* Impartiality forces us to state that Madame de Stael, iii her 
‘ Considerations on the French revolution,’ (Chap. 20) attributes 
M. Necker’s absence to a determination previously taken, in con¬ 
sequence of the changes made in his plan; and according to the 
same authority, M. Necker replied to the wish, expressed by the 
court, that he should be present at the royal session, by tendering 
his resignation. 


80 


RECOLLECTIONS 


sometimes produce a stronger effect than either 
reason or eloquence. But surely M. Necker was 
not to blame for not sanctioning, with his pre¬ 
sence, a measure in furtherance of which his 
speeches had been insidiously used, after changing 
the vital part of the plan he had proposed. 

Mirabeau was made acquainted by Clavi&re, 
who could not keep a secret, with the true origin 
of the royal session. He complained of it to me 
in terms of indignation. “ Duroverai,” said he, 
“ did not think me worthy of being consulted.” 
He looks upon me, I know, as a madman with 
lucid intervals. But I could have told him 
beforehand what would be the fate of his plan. 
It is not with such an elastic temperament as that 
of the French, that these brutal forms must be 
resorted to. And what kind of man is this M. 
Necker, that he should be trusted with such 
means ? You might as well make an issue in a 
wooden leg as give him advice; for he certainly 
could not follow it.” And getting warmer as he 
proceeded, he concluded with these remarkable 
words, “ It is thus that Kings are led to the scaf¬ 
fold ! ” 


OF MIRABEAU. 


81 


CHAPTER V. 

At this period great agitation commenced 
among the people. I have no doubt that 
there were meetings to promote insurrection, 
paid declaimers, a great deal of money distri¬ 
buted, and that the primary agents of the direc¬ 
tors at Versailles, were more numerous among 
the minority of the nobles, than in the tiers-dtat . 
I will not, indeed, venture to assert, that I am ac¬ 
quainted with particulars ; but I firmly believe 
that the deputies of the tiers-dtat acted, at this 
momentous crisis, with very little concert among 
themselves. There was a commencement of or¬ 
ganization only among the deputies from Brittany, 
who had already been somewhat drilled into the 
tactics of popular assemblies, by their public dis¬ 
putes in their native province. So far as I was 
able to ascertain, the Breton club, which was 

G 


82 


RECOLLECTIONS 


acquiring great importance, had been got up 
by the minority of the nobles ; but there will be 
no complete history of the revolution, until some 
member of this party publishes the secret me¬ 
moirs of its transactions. I well remember an 
anecdote of that period. I one day encoun¬ 
tered Sieyes who had just quitted a meeting com¬ 
posed of Bretons, and of members belonging to 
the minority of the nobles. He mentioned no 
names, but said, “ 1 will return to those men 
no more. Their politics are too cavernous, and 
they propose crimes instead of expedients.” 

Duport and the Lameths had the reputation of 
having machinated the revolution of Paris. It was 
easy for the Duke of Orleans to put the centre 
districts in motion. He was like a spider in the 
midst of his web. But I know nothing of these 
events, except through public channels. Mira- 
beau was not connected with them. His fiery and 
ungovernable temper, disqualified him for coali¬ 
tions. His ideas were not sufficiently connected, 
nor did he inspire sufficient confidence to become 
a chief, and he had too much pride to play a sub¬ 
ordinate part. He therefore remained indepen¬ 
dent ; envious to an excess of every rising influ¬ 
ence, epigrammatic by wholesale, a retail dealer 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


83 


in flattery, and alienated from his colleagues by 
his contempt for some, and his jealousy of others. 
I often went to Paris with him, and I am convinced 
that he had no share in the rising of the Pa¬ 
risians. 

They who would account for the French revolu¬ 
tion, by attributing it to concealed machinators, 
are mistaken. Such machinators did certainly 
not produce the public feeling; they only took 
advantage of it. It is true, that they excited and 
directed it; but it is absurd to suppose, that any 
conspirators at this period, could have caused so 
sudden and violent an impulse;—one, in short, so 
vast as to include, simultaneously, the whole 
French nation. Every one was in motion at Paris ; 
even the coldest and most calculating, partici¬ 
pated in the phrenzy of the moment. The whole 
popular mass was in a state of extreme caldes- 
cence. A word from the Palais Royal, an acci¬ 
dental movement, the merest trifle, in fine, might 
cause a general commotion. In such a state of 
things, tumult begets tumult, and the disease of 
the evening, is aggravated next day. 

Although the details are somewhat effaced from 
my recollection, I yet well remember the interval 
between the royal session, and the mournful ap- 
, g 2 


84 


RECOLLECTIONS 


parition of the King, at the assembly, when he 
came to deliver himself up, or rather to place his 
person in deposit there, after the capture of the 
Bastille. I recollect this period as one of trouble, 
confusion, and obscurity. False alarms were 
given, people knew and did not know, orders were 
given and revoked, every thing was attempted to 
be guessed at and explained, and a motive was 
attributed to the most indifferent actions. The 
palace was watched; spies were placed every 
where, and each trifle was made of consequence. 
There were insurrections at Versailles, originating, 
not in a preconcerted plan, but in a suspicious 
and irascible disposition. Meantime, the three 
orders remained divided, and had assumed hostile 
attitudes. The court sent troops to quell these 
insurrections. Versailles was filled with foreign 
soldiers, and military measures seemed every 
where adopted. There were whispers of a change 
of ministry, and the new names mentioned, did 
not tend to tranquillize the commons. So much 
bustle on the part of court, could be intended only 
to enforce obedience to the royal session, either 
by removing the asssembly to a greater distance 
from Paris, its proximity to which was dangerous, 
or by dissolving it altogether, if this could be done 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


85 


without the risk of a civil war, the idea of which 
made the King shudder. But whatever were the 
intentions of the court or of those who conducted 
its affairs, such intentions were certainly not 
in unison with those of the King; there was an 
alarming secrecy in the whole conduct of the 
court party; secret preparations were discovered, 
and plans seemed to be in a course of develope- 
ment, but no result was ever perceived. Such 
conduct raised general indignation, and the fer¬ 
mentation at Paris was dreadful. 

Reybaz and Clavi&re returned from Paris, and 
assured us that it would be impossible to contain 
the people. They urged Mirabeau to stand for¬ 
ward upon this occasion. “If,” said they, “the 
tiers-dtat were wrong in voting themselves a na¬ 
tional assembly, still it is a measure which cannot 
now #be recalled, without degrading the repre¬ 
sentatives of the people, and affording a complete 
triumph to the insolence of the aristocracy. Should 
the states-general be dissolved, a national bank¬ 
ruptcy must be the inevitable consequence. The 
people will rejoice at this, because the govern¬ 
ment will reduce the taxes ; there will be then no 
further difficulty, and the cause of freedom will be 
lost.” I am certain, that at this period, the ere- 


86 


RECOLLECTIONS 


ditors of the state, a very numerous and active 
body, who were all powerful at Paris, were acting 
in direct opposition to the court, because they 
perceived but too plainly, that if the government 
declared a national bankruptcy, the deficit would 
be thought no more of, and the words states-gene¬ 
ral, constitution , and sovereignty of the people , to¬ 
tally forgotten. 

It was at length discovered, that agents of the 
court were sounding the regiments recently ar¬ 
rived at Versailles and likewise the French guards, 
in order to ascertain how far their fidelity to the 
government might be depended on. There was 
now no time to be lost, and it was thought neces¬ 
sary that the King himself should be warned of 
these manoeuvres, the object and danger of which 
were probably concealed from him. These points 
were introduced by Mirabeau into his famous 
speech upon the removal of the troops. This speech 
was a sort of abstract of every thing that had been 
said upon the subject, during our private con¬ 
ferences. I wrote it, and Duroverai drew up the 
resolutions containing the proposed measure. One 
ot these resolutions called upon the King to esta¬ 
blish a militia of citizens. It was the only one 
rejected by the assembly, though, perhaps, it was 


OF MIRABEAU. 


87 


the most important. Duroverai saw that if the 
people took up arms, the royal authority would 
be annihilated ; but if the King himself armed the 
citizens, such a choice of men and officers might 
be made, that this institution, like the English 
militia, would be a bulwark against insurrection, 
without alarming the advocates of liberty. The 
last of these resolutions was to present an address 
to the King, relative to the removal of the troops. 
A committee was appointed to draw up this ad¬ 
dress ; for the assembly sent every thing to com¬ 
mittees, in order to give as little importance as 
possible to individuals. But as writing in common, 
is the most difficult of all conjunct functions, Mira- 
beau was requested by the committee to make a 
draft of the address. Animated by the success of 
the speech, and full of the subject, encouraged 
moreover, by the flattery and affectionate caresses 
of Mirabeau, whom the applause of the assembly 
had filled with delight, I wrote with great ease 
and rapidity, in the interval between one sitting 
and another, the address to the King.* 

I remember a circumstance which amused me 
at the time. Garat, who was member of the com- 


Vide Appendix, No. 1. 


88 


RECOLLECTIONS 


mittee, came to ask the hour at which Mirabeau 
could attend. I was then in the heat of composi¬ 
tion, and he was obliged to elude replying, by 
shuffling and giving an oblique turn to the ques¬ 
tion. Next day, at M. de la Rochefoucauld’s, 
another member of the committee, whose name I 
forget, spoke greatly in favour of this address, and 
praised the modesty of Mirabeau, who had con¬ 
sented to all the alterations demanded, as if, in 
this composition, he had foregone his vanity of 
authorship. I know not whether my self-love 
were more sensible on the occasion than his, 
but I certainly thought that the alterations had 
not improved the address. Duroverai kept the 
original for a long time, a thing I did not even 
think of. Though flattered by the applause be¬ 
stowed upon this production, I was not silly enough 
to fancy it a masterpiece. 1 considered that its 
greatest merit arose from the circumstance which 
occasioned it. There was dignity and simplicity in 
the style, with as much oratorical eloquence as 
was consistent with the respect due to the mo¬ 
narch, and with the dignity of the assembly who 
addressed him. The expressions were measured 
and unctuous, and the whole was in good keeping 
with the subject. Mirabeau approved of it the 


OF M1RABEAU. 


89 


more because he felt himself unable to write in 
this particular way: “ My style readily assumes 
force,” said he, “ and I have a command of strong 
expressions ; but, if I want to be mild, unctuous, 
and measured, I become insipid, and my flabby 
style makes me sick.” 

Had I afterwards discovered any faults in this 
address, I must not have pointed them out to Mi- 
rabeau ; for he attached himself so strongly to his 
adopted children that he felt for them the affec¬ 
tion of a parent.* 

If the honour of these compositions had be¬ 
longed to another, it must not be thought that 
the unknown author would have derived no satis¬ 
faction from them. The approbation of a circle 
of some half dozen friends is always flattering, 
without including those whom they may have let 
into the secret. I have not to accuse myself of 
any indiscretion of this kind; or strictly speak- 

* When I worked for Mirabeau, I seemed to feel the pleasure 
of an obscure individual who had changed his children at nurse, 
and introduced them into a great family. He would be obliged 
to respect them, although he was their father. Such was the case 
with my writings. When Mirabeau had once adopted them, he 
would have defended them even against me; more than that—he 
would have allowed me to admire them, as an act of esteem and 
friendship for himself .—Note by Dumont. 


90 


RECOLLECTIONS 


ing, perhaps, my own self-love may have been the 
best guardian of the secret; for the instant I had 
been tempted to reveal it, I should have fancied 
that I perceived an expression of doubt and in¬ 
credulity upon every countenance. But in sober 
earnest, I can declare, that knowing such a pro¬ 
ceeding to be repugnant to delicacy and friend¬ 
ship, the temptation never once occurred to me. 

I was not long in perceiving that Mira- 
beau’s friends considered Duroverai and me as 
his writers . His life of agitation, his being 
much out, his occupations at the assembly, his 
committees, his loss of time, and his taste for plea¬ 
sure, prevented those who knew him from consi¬ 
dering him the author of the writings which ap¬ 
peared in his name. At a later period, a greater 
number of workmen were added to this manufac¬ 
tory. But when I was designated in the Acts of 
the Apostles , and other pamphlets, as one of Mira- 
beau’s authors, I no longer felt the same pleasure 
in writing for him ; and this circumstance deter¬ 
mined me, as I shall hereafter explain, to return 
to England. 

The King’s answer to the address was not sa¬ 
tisfactory. His personal intentions were thought 
good, and he was supposed to be led astray by 


OF MIUABEAU. 


91 


deception practised upon him. There was a plan 
in a course of development, whose extent and ob¬ 
ject were not known. But the threats of certain 
subordinates, their insulting looks, apparent prepa¬ 
rations for a coup d'etat , the movements of the 
troops, nocturnal visits to the guard-houses by offi¬ 
cers of rank, secret councils at court, to which M. 
Necker was not summoned, and a thousand par¬ 
ticulars of the same description, constituted the 
events of every day. These were again exagge¬ 
rated and distorted by the general uneasiness and 
alarm. No one was yet bold enough to speak of 
the conspiracy of the court —this name was not 
applied till after the victory;—but the consterna¬ 
tion was general. The approach of the troops 
and the dismissal of M. Necker, brought on the 
insurrection of Paris. I say nothing of the 
public events of which I was not an eye-witness. 
I remained at Versailles with the national assem¬ 
bly, whose intrepidity was not to be shaken by 
the approach of danger. It was no longer divided 
into parties; all had one unanimous feeling. The 
dissolution of the states-general appeared to all, 
pregnant with the greatest danger. 

The sitting of Monday, the 13th of July, was 
awfully calm. There were a thousand con- 


92 


RECOLLECTIONS 


fused reports relative to what had occurred at 
Paris on the preceding day. It was known that 
the people had repulsed the regiment of the 
Prince of Lambesc, and driven it back to the 
Tuileries: that the French guards had joined the 
people, and had been engaged with the Swiss; 
that the populace were arming; that they had 
broken open the armourer’s shops, and closed 
the city gates; and that Paris, in a word, was 
in open insurrection. Mirabeau told us that 
he had a list of proscriptions; that Sieyes, 
Chapelier, Lafayette, Lameth, himself and 
several others were to be arrested; that they 
had been put upon their guard and intended 
to pass the night at the assembly, where they 
should consider themselves safer than in their 
own houses. The assembly continued its sitting 
throughout the night, and in the intervals between 
the deputations dispatched to the King to be¬ 
seech him to withdraw the troops whose presence 
had inflamed the metropolis, they discussed, if I 
remember rightly, a declaration of the rights of 
man presented by Lafayette. In his answer to 
the deputation, the King stated that his heart 
was lacerated ; that it was impossible the orders 
he had given, for the restoration of the public 


OF MIRABEAU. 


93 


peace, could have led to the rising of Paris. But 
he spoke not of withdrawing the troops, and the 
individuals, by whom he was surrounded, were 
not calculated to restore confidence. The plan 
of the court seemed to continue its progress, when 
the assembly made a last effort, and on the Tues¬ 
day morning sent a more solemn deputation to 
the King. Mirabeau, with a voice rendered hoarse 
by watching, fatigue, and uneasiness, said a few 
words, which were rapturously applauded. 

It is a well known fact that the troops at 
Versailles had declined obedience ; and that 
after the fall of the Bastille, and the metamor¬ 
phosis, which, in two days, had changed the 
peaceful citizens of Paris into an army of two 
hundred thousand men, the King had no other 
alternative than to unite himself to the national 
assembly and seek his safety among its members. 
What a contrast, then, did the sitting of the 18th 
of June form with those which had preceded it! 
The King announced his intention of going to 
Paris forthwith. Mirabeau astonished at this re¬ 
solve, and still more so at its subsequent execu¬ 
tion, afterwards said to me, “ He must be a bold 
mortal who advised this step. Had the King not 
followed the advice, Paris was lost to him for 


94 


RECOLLECTIONS 


ever. Two or three days later, and he would 
have been unable to return thither.” I attribute 
these words to the singular sagacity with 
which Mirabeau was gifted. He knew the Duke 
of Orleans’ party, and might have thought that 
this prince would have taken advantages of the 
circumstances to obtain possession of the metro¬ 
polis. If the Duke’s party did indeed form any 
such plan, it was frustrated by the sudden ap¬ 
pearance of the King, who, thereby, in some de¬ 
gree, revived the almost extinct affection of the 
Parisians. It seemed as though the two hundred 
thousand men under arms had concerted among 
themselves to receive him with the most appalling 
solemnity. In proceeding to the H6tel-de-Ville, he 
heard no other cry than, “ long live the assembly!” 
but on his return, as if the chastisement had been 
severe enough, he was saluted by acclamations of 
“ long live the King !” 

The King was a man of weak character, but by 
no means timid ; of which his conduct on this day 
furnished a striking illustration. It required a 
great degree of courage to go into the midst of an 
enraged populace, who seemed conferring a favour 
on their monarch by receiving him within the walls 
of his own capital. When M. Bailli told him that 


OF MIRABEAU. 


95 


Henry IV had conquered his people, but the 
people had now conquered their King, he turned 
round and said in a whisper to the Prince of 
Beauveau, “ Perhaps I had better not hear that.” 
The Prince of Beauveau made a sign in reply and 
the orator proceeded. 

The death of the Marquis of Mirabeau, the 
author of “ The Friend of Manf obliged Mirabeau 
to absent himself from the assembly for a few 
days. This occurred during the motions for the 
recall of M. Necker, and against the new minis¬ 
ters. M. Bertrand de Molleville, who has en¬ 
riched his pretended “ Annals of the Revolution” 
with all his own prejudices, has attributed Mira- 
beau’s silence on these occasions, to profound in¬ 
tentions. 

Mirabeau had made me promise to employ my 
leisure time in writing for him a sketch of the re¬ 
volution. I began it at Paris, but I had great 
difficulty in collecting facts, reconciling contradic¬ 
tions, reducing exaggeration, and separating 
truth from falsehood. The causes of events were 
always hidden, the secret councils of the court 
unknown. Much might always be urged on both 
sides of the question, and it might be maintained 
with perhaps equal plausibility, that there was a 


96 


RECOLLECTIONS 


court conspiracy, and there was not. It appeared 
to me necessary to distinguish the acts of the 
King from those of his ministers, and to represent 
him as having concurred in a plan of which the 
most vital points had been concealed from him. 
Even with regard to Paris itself, the more the 
scene was extended, the more confused were the 
details. Some described to me the capture of 
the Bastille as a wonderful achievement; others 
reduced it to a mere nothing, and 1 really knew 
not what conclusion to come to with regard to 
Launay and his invalids. The crimes of the pe¬ 
riod appeared to me the mere effect of sudden 
excitement, but every one seemed to believe that 
they were mixed up with treachery. Persuaded 
at last that the secret history of no great political 
event was ever well known even at the period of 
its occurrence, I wrote, in the best way I could, 
the account contained in the nineteenth letter of 
Mirabeau to his constituents, in which he made 
some alterations, and struck out some expressions 
of doubt, because the court conspiracy was more 
manifest to him than to me. This letter was pro¬ 
digiously successful. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


97 


CHAPTER VI. 

All Mirabeau’s letters to his constituents, 
beginning from the eleventh, were written by 
either Duroverai or me. Mirabeau, who was 
very desirous of keeping us at Paris during the 
session of the National Assembly, proposed a 
literary partnership which offered a good chance 
of profit. This was to write a regular journal 
in his name, the profits of which, after de¬ 
ducting the expenses, should be equally divided 
between himself, le Jay the bookseller, Duro¬ 
verai, and me. We were to include in the out¬ 
goings of the paper, a reasonable monthly sum 
for our current expenses. The title of the jour¬ 
nal was “ Le Courrier de Provence .” It was 
announced in the nineteenth letter to which I 
alluded at the end of the last chapter ; and 

H 


98 


RECOLLECTIONS 


although the subscription was high, so many sub¬ 
scribers appeared, that we all fancied our fortunes 
made. In a few days, our list contained more 
than three thousand names. Orders from the 
provinces were large in proportion. If le Jay 
had been a man of business, or if his wife, who 
managed every thing, had shown a little order 
and probity, they would have acquired a rapid 
fortune; for they had a considerable allowance 
for printing and commission. They had, besides, 
their fourth part of the net profits, and Mira- 
beau had given up his share to them also; but 
their impropriety of conduct and rapacity ruined 
the undertaking. Being entirely occupied in 
writing the articles, and residing, moreover, at 
Versailles, we were obliged to trust wholly to 
their integrity. The subscribers were continu¬ 
ally making complaints; and those in the pro¬ 
vinces were so neglected that they were some¬ 
times a whole month without receiving any 
paper. For Le Jay had often not money enough 
to pay for the carriage of the papers by the 
diligence. The parcels were delayed, and the 
country booksellers complained without obtain¬ 
ing redress. The printer at Paris, refused to 
print when his payments were behind hand, and 


OF MIRABEAU. 


99 


Mirabeau was often obliged to make advances to 
keep the thing going. When, at the expiration 
of four months, we called for an account, there 
was none forthcoming. Madame le Jay con¬ 
cealed her books. She had furnished her house 
and stocked her shop with the money received, 
and her small pamphlet stall had been converted 
into a splendid bookseller’s shop ; in short all 
in her establishment announced opulence ; but 
having appropriated to herself the amount of the 
subscriptions, she would come to no settlement. 
I left it to Duroverai to settle this business, for 
litigation did not accord with my habits. Money 
matters interested me very little, and I under¬ 
stood them not. Mirabeau was placed between 
two fires. He was irritated at Madame le Jay’s 
dishonesty, and said to her one day in my pre¬ 
sence, “ Madame le Jay, if probity did not exist, 
it should be invented as a means of growing rich.” 
But Madame le Jay had other means of obtaining 
the victory, and Mirabeau’s liaison with this artful 
and determined female permitted him not to make 
too much noise. She was in possession of all his 
secrets; knew too many anecdotes about him ; 
and was too dangerous and too fond of mischief 
for him to think of a rupture, although he was 

h 2 


100 


RECOLLECTIONS 


tired of her, and in the high sphere in which he 
was moving, often felt that such a connection 
degraded him. This is the only time, during the 
whole course of my life, that I was ever involved 
in a dispute relative to money matters, and had 
an opportunity of closely observing the ma¬ 
noeuvres of fraud and the passion of cupidity. 
Le Jay was a fool who promised every thing > 
but he trembled like a child before his wife. 
Mirabeau, ashamed of our disappointment, swore 
that the national assembly was easier to govern 
than a woman who had made up her mind. But 
violence is always overcome by sang-froid . She 
replied to his reproaches with the most piquant 
raillery. “ All the bar,” said he, “ would grow 
grey before they could convince her. I defy the 
most artful lawyer to find the subtleties which she 
invents.” As it was impossible to recover our 
money by a law-suit, we came to a determination 
of ceasing our contributions to the journal. This 
disconcerted her at first; but she thought she could 
easily induce me to go on again, and undertook it 
in a conversation full of artifice. Without anger, 
and without even alluding to the subject of our 
quarrel, I drily told her that I would never sepa¬ 
rate from Duroverai. “ Very well,” replied she, 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


101 


“ do as you please. I am sorry for it; but there are 
other writers in this great city besides you and 
I have already received advances from several.” 
On leaving me, she applied to all the literary 
men she knew, and proposed her journal; for in 
her own opinion it was as much her property as 
any estate she might have purchased ; and she 
had considered Duroverai and me merely as two 
labourers in her hire. After many fruitless at¬ 
tempts, she at length got two individuals to 
undertake it; one of whom was M. Guiraudez, a 
man of talent and learning, whom I had met at 
Mirabeau’s. Such a proceeding, more than un¬ 
civil and which surprised me much, met with its 
just reward ; for had these gentlemen possessed 
more talent than really belonged to them, they 
had not been in the practice of attending the na¬ 
tional assembly, were unable to designate indivi¬ 
duals, and having no communications with any 
of the deputies, through whom alone they could 
have ascertained what was going on behind the 
scenes, they gave nothing but long and tame 
extracts from speeches, without being able to 
afford any interesting information. Mirabeau 
was furious at the abuse of his name, and wanted 
to insert notices in all the public prints. 


102 


RECOLLECTIONS 


Complaints to Madame le Jay * poured in 
from all quarters. Guiraudez and his colleague, 
ashamed of their conduct and still more at their 
want of success,—overwhelmed, moreover, with 
reproaches from Mirabeau,—repented of what they 
had done; and without coming to any settlement 
with Madame le Jay about the past, we entered 
into a new arrangement for the future. 

I know not why I have written these insignifi¬ 
cant details. I shall expunge them if I find here¬ 
after that these Recollections become sufficiently 
interesting to deserve my more particular attention. 

The composition of this journal became a 
source of amusement to us. Duroverai and I 
undertook the alternate sittings of the assembly. 
A few words written in pencil, sufficed to call to 
our recollection the arguments of a speech and 
the order of a debate. We never intended to give 
all the idle prating in the tribune. As most of 
the important speeches were written, Mirabeau 
took care to ask for them for us, and many de¬ 
puties sent them as from themselves. The most 
diffuse sometimes complained of our reducing 
their dropsical and turgescent productions. 

Though few were satisfied, yet Mirabeau re¬ 
ceived thanks which he did not fail to transmit 


OF MIRABEAU. 


103 


us. “ The provincials must think,” said Cha- 
pelier to him, “ that we speak like oracles, when 
we are read stripped of our verbiage and non¬ 
sense.” 

Our principal care in important discussions, 
was to omit no argument advanced by either 
party. It was an impartial expose of the case. 
Even Mirabeau, although his extravagances were 
palliated, obtained no flattery. Barring a few 
innocent pleasantries, which served to amuse our 
readers, we never indulged in personalities, and, 
except in a few particular cases, Mirabeau him¬ 
self felt that the greatest service we could render 
him was never to lend ourselves to the vengeance 
of his self-love. Sieyes complained bitterly of 
some criticisms upon his “ Rights of Man” and 
upon his “ Principles of Constitutions.” “ Do 
not make me quarrel with that man,” said Mira¬ 
beau, “ for his vanity is implacable.” 

I have lately read many articles of this journal, 
and am now surprised at the boldness with which 
the assembly is censured. The want of order 
and connection in its constitutional and financial 
operations ; its manner of laying down general 
principles and overlooking details; its insidious 
manner of anticipating decisions ; its having 


J04 


RECOLLECTIONS 


overthrown the old established authority before 
other institutions were formed to replace it; its 
constituting itself an office of delation; and its 
usurpation of ministerial duties, are all visited 
with severe comments. The defects of its in¬ 
ternal regulations are presented with the bold¬ 
ness of naked truth, and a faithful picture is given 
of its incoherent disorder, and the fiery impatience 
always attendant upon its proceedings. 

During an absence of Duroverai, in 1790, M. 
Reybaz, who had already supplied us with seve¬ 
ral very interesting articles, undertook his share 
of the work, and executed it with much more 
accuracy than he. I ended my labours, in the 
beginning of March, by a discussion on religious 
communities and the spirit of monachism. Duro¬ 
verai and Reybaz continued together for some 
months, and the paper, abandoned at length by 
Mirabeau, became a mere compilation of speeches 
and decrees, and retained nothing of our journal 
but the name. 

I was often disgusted with this work, because 
the simple operation of abridging speeches and 
reporting the tumultuous proceedings of the as¬ 
sembly was not a kind of occupation to afford me 
pleasure. On the other hand, the rapidity of the 


OF MlltABEAU. 


105 


whirlwind by which the assembly was swept 
along, left no time for study and meditation. 
Thus the work, in spite of some tolerable articles, 
is mediocre and often very bad. I am not sur¬ 
prised that it incurred at last the same contempt 
as all the ephemeral productions of that period. 
I shall, however, extract in another place, some 
passages which may serve to give an idea of the 
interior of the assembly, and which no one would 
take the trouble of looking for in a large com¬ 
pilation. 

Besides my contributions to this journal, I 
continued to supply my share of Mirabeau’s 
legislative labours. I shall now proceed to mat¬ 
ters much more interesting. 


106 


RECOLLECTIONS 


CHAPTER VII. 

After the insurrection of Paris, the national 
assembly was soon completed by the union with 
it, of the majority of the nobles, and the minority 
of the clergy. The forms of ordinary civility were 
still entertained, by the tiers-tiat, towards these 
two orders, who were received with silence and 
dignity, but without bravado. The speeches of 
Bailly, then president of the assembly, were too 
complimentary, and sincerity was sacrificed to 
good-breeding. Whilst the bosoms of all were 
ulcerated and bleeding, their words breathed no¬ 
thing but friendship and concord. These ma¬ 
noeuvres were intended to impose upon the people; 
but the people were not to be so imposed upon, 
and such forced and evidently hypocritical lan- 


OF MIKABEAU. 


107 


guage, tended only to destroy their confidence in 
the assembly. 

The disorders of the Paris insurrection had not 
* ceased, and the massacres with which the metro¬ 
polis had been disgraced, were imitated in the 
provinces. Under these circumstances, several 
members proposed an address from the national 
assembly to the people. After the success of my 
first, I considered addresses as belonging to my 
peculiar department, and I wrote one which was 
a species of political sermon. It was at first ap¬ 
plauded, but ultimately rejected. I know not 
whether it thwarted the views of certain per¬ 
sons ; be that as it may, it was much praised but 
not accepted. It was afterwards printed in the 
Courrier de Provence * Whether this address 
were adopted or not, it would have made not the 
slightest difference. Insurrections are not to be ar¬ 
rested by words; and if, under such circumstances, 
an exhortation ever succeeds, it is when used only 
as a preamble to force. 

So fearful were the assembly of offending the 
people, that motions tending to the repression of 
disorder, and the censure of popular excesses. 


* Vide Appendix, No. 2. 


108 


RECOLLECTIONS 


were considered almost as snares. Mistrust was 
still in every bosom. The assembly had triumphed 
by means of the people, towards whom, there¬ 
fore,, they could not display great severity ; and it 
is a notorious fact, that although they often 
stated in their preambles how severely they were 
afflicted and irritated, at the violent excesses com¬ 
mitted by the brigands, who burned chateaus and 
insulted the nobility - they secretly rejoiced, in re¬ 
ality, at the existence of a terror, which they con¬ 
ceived salutary. They had placed themselves be¬ 
tween the alternatives of fearing the nobles, or being 
feared by them. They censured to save appear¬ 
ances, but policy prevented them from punishing ; 
they paid compliments to authority, but gave en¬ 
couragement to licenciousness. Respect for the 
executive was with them, a mere formula of style, 
and, in fact, when the King’s ministers came and 
manifested their weakness, and revealed their 
direful anticipations, the assembly remembering 
their own late fears, were not sorry that fear had 
changed sides, " If you were powerful enough 
to be feared by the people, you would be suffi¬ 
ciently so to be feared by us!” Such was the 
feeling prevalent among what was called the cote 
gauche . It was the reaction of fear. 


OF MIHABEAU. 


109 


I must not omit that, at this period, not only 
the general opinion in France, but that of all 
Europe, was in favour of the democratic party in 
the assembly. A feeling of pleasure was gene¬ 
rally entertained at a revolution, which had over¬ 
thrown the ancient government of France. 

It may be said, with truth, that throughout 
Europe, all who were not patricians, had trembled 
for the fate of the commons, and had considered 
their delivery as a service rendered to the human 
race in general. It was the cause of mankind against 
the powers usurped by the exclusive and privi¬ 
leged classes. The unhappy events which debased 
the revolution, throw at the present day a sinister 
shade even upon its very cradle. We are ashamed of 
having admired, at its birth, a cause which, during 
its progress, we were forced to abhor. But let the 
impartial historian recollect, that when the French 
revolution first broke out, there was a general 
excitement, a sort of intoxication of hope; and 
that the enthusiasm raised by the grandeur of the 
object, generated a degree of insensibility to its 
first excesses, which were considered merely as 
unfortunate accidents occurring during the ce¬ 
remony of a national triumph. Surely, every part 
of a ruined and antiquated edifice, could not fall to 


110 


RECOLLECTIONS 


the ground without crushing some of the mistaken 
individuals who persevered in their endeavours 
to prop it up. Such was the opinion of the mas¬ 
ter minds of Europe, of the soundest philoso¬ 
phers, the greatest philantrophists, and the dearest 
friends of freedom. If it were an error, it was a 
universal one. England, as the noblest and most 
free, declared her opinions in a more marked man¬ 
ner than other states; and in that kingdom,the news 
of the fall of the Bastille was received with the most 
joyful acclamations. If the British government 
did not allow that event to be represented on the 
stage, it was only from personal respect for the 
King of France. The whole nation felt the 
strongest sympathy towards the French people, 
with whom they sincerely rejoiced at the over¬ 
throw of despotism. 

This enthusiasm was maintained almost 
throughout the existence of the first national as¬ 
sembly. It diminished after the events of the 5th 
and 6th of October. Many admirers cooled in 
their praise, and many influential men began to 
think that the French people were treating, with 
too great indignity, a King who had done so 
much for them; and to fear that the national 
character was too impetuous, and too violent for 


OF MIRABEAU. 


Ill 


the rational enjoyment of freedom. So small 
however, was the number of individuals who dis¬ 
approved, that their opinion made but a slight 
impression. The first decisive blow struck at 
the enthusiasm in favour of the revolution, was 
that famous production of Burke’s, in which 
alone he grappled with the gigantic strength of 
the assembly, and represented these new legisla¬ 
tors, in the full enjoyment of power and honors, 
as so many maniacs, who could destroy, but who 
were unable to replace. This work, resplendent 
with genius and eloquence, though written in an 
age when imagination was on the decline, led to 
the formation of two parties in England. How¬ 
ever the arguments of Burke may seem to have 
been justified by posterior events, it yet remains 
to be shown, that the war cry then raised against 
France, did not greatly contribute to the violence 
which characterised that period. It is possible, 
that had he merely roused the attention of the 
governments and wealthy classes, to the dangers 
of this new political creed, he might have proved 
the saviour of Europe; but he made such exag¬ 
gerated statements, and used arguments so alarm¬ 
ing to freedom, that on many points, he was 
not only plausibly, but victoriously refuted. Be 


112 


RECOLLECTIONS 


that as it may, this publication of Burke’s, which 
was a manifesto against the assembly, had a prodi¬ 
gious success in England. The Germans, who 
more than any other people, had winced under 
the yoke of the nobles, persevered in their admi¬ 
ration of the French legislators. 

The united national assembly commenced their 
proceedings with the famous declaration on the 
rights of man. The idea was American, and 
there was scarcely a member who did not con¬ 
sider such a declaration, an indispensable pre¬ 
liminary. I well remember the long debate on 
the subject, which lasted several weeks, as a 
period of mortal ennui . There were silly disputes 
about words, much metaphysical trash, and dread¬ 
fully tedious prosing. The assembly had con¬ 
verted itself into a Sorbonne, and each apprentice 
in the art of legislation, was trying his yet un¬ 
fledged wings, upon such puerilities. After the 
rejection of several models, a committee of five 
members was appointed to present a new one. 
Mirabeau, one of the five, undertook the work 
with his usual generosity, but imposed its ex¬ 
ecution upon his friends. He set about the task, 
and there were he, Duroverai, Clavi&re, and I, 
writing, disputing, adding, striking out, and ex- 


OF MIRABEAU. 


113 


hausting both time and patience, upon this ri¬ 
diculous subject. At length, we produced our 
piece of patchwork, our mosaic of pretended 
natural rights which never existed. During the 
progress of this stupid compilation, I made some 
reflections, which had never struck me before. 

I felt the inconsistency and ridicule of a 
work, which was only a puerile fiction. A de¬ 
claration of rights could be made only after the 
framing of the constitution and as one of its con¬ 
sequences ; for rights exist in virtue of laws and 
therefore do not precede them. The maxims 
sanctioned by this declaration ; that is to say, the 
principles intended to be established by it, 
are dangerous in themselves; for legislators 
should not be tied down to general pro¬ 
positions which they are afterwards obliged 
to alter or modify ;—above all they must not be 
cramped by false maxims. Men are born free 
and equal! that is not true. They are not born 
free; on the contrary, they are born in a state 
of weakness and necessary dependence. Equal! 
how are they so ? or how can they be so ? if by 
equality is understood equality of fortune, of 
talents, of virtue, of industry, or of rank, then 
* the falsehood is manifest. It would require 


i 


114 


RECOLLECTIONS OF 


volumes of argument to give any reasonable 
meaning to that equality proclaimed without 
exception. In a word, my opinion against the 
declaration of the rights of man was so strongly 
formed, that this time it influenced that of our 
little committee. Mirabeau, on presenting the 
project, even ventured to make some objections to 
it, and proposed to defer the declaration of rights 
until the constitution should be completed. “ I 
can safely predict,” said he, in his bold and ener¬ 
getic style, “ that any declaration of rights an¬ 
terior to the constitution, will prove but the alma¬ 
nack of a single year /” 

Mirabeau, generally satisfied with a happy 
turn of expression, never gave himself the trouble 
of studying a subject sufficiently to be able to dis¬ 
cuss it, and patiently maintain the opinion he 
had advanced. He seized every thing with mar¬ 
vellous facility, but developed nothing. He 
wanted the practice of refutation. This great art 
so indispensable to a political orator, was un¬ 
known to him. His opinion on the declaration 
surprised the assembly, because, when the ques¬ 
tion was previously discussed, he had argued in 
favor of its necessity. The most violent re¬ 
proaches were addressed to him at this sudden 


OF M1RABEAU. 


115 


change of sentiment. “ What manner of man 
is this, 5 ' cried some one, “ who uses his ascen¬ 
dency here to make the assembly adopt by turns 
both sides of a question? Shall we condescend 
to be the sport of his perpetual tergiversation V 9 
Mirabeau had on this occasion so many good 
reasons to urge in favor of his proposition, that he 
would no doubt have triumphed had he known 
how to make use of them, but he withdrew his 
motion at the instant when several deputies had 
come over to his way of thinking. The eternal 
babble had then full range and at last gave birth 
to the unfortunate declaration of the rights of 
man. I have now a complete refutation of it, 
clause by clause, from the pen of a great master 
who has exposed, in the clearest manner, the con¬ 
tradictions, absurdities and dangers of this pro¬ 
gram of sedition, which proved alone sufficient 
to overthrow the constitution of which it formed 
part. It may be compared to a powder magazine 
placed under an edifice, which it might overthrow 
by an explosion produced by the smallest spark*. 

But if the assembly wasted much time in dis¬ 
cussions on the rights of man, this was amply 

* Vide Tactique des Assemblies deliberates, vol. 2. 

i 2 


] IG 


RECOLLECTIONS 


compensated in the nocturnal sitting of the 4th 
of August. Never was so much work done in so 
short a space of time. That which would have 
required twelve months of careful examination, was 
proposed, discussed, put to the vote, and passed by 
general acclamation. I know not how many laws 
were decreed;—the abolition of feudal rights, 
tithes, and provincial privileges—three ques¬ 
tions embracing a whole system of jurisprudence 
and politics—were, with ten or twelve others, dis¬ 
posed of in less time than the English parliament 
would decide upon the first reading of any bill 
of consequence. The assembly resembled a 
dying man who had made his will in a hurry; or 
to speak more plainly, each member gave away 
what did not belong to him, and prided himself 
upon his generosity at the expense of others. 

I was present at this extraordinary and unex¬ 
pected scene, which occurred on a day when 
Sieyes, Mirabeau and several other leading de¬ 
puties were absent. 

The proceedings commenced with a report on 
the excesses in the provinces, the burning of 
chateaus, and the bands of banditti who attacked 
the nobles and laid waste the country. The 
Dukes of Aiguillon and Noailles and several 


OF MIRABEAU. 


117 


other members of the minority of the nobles, 
after a vivid description of the disasters, de¬ 
clared that it was by a great act of generosity 
alone that tranquillity and confidence could be 
restored; that it was, therefore, time to forego odious 
privileges and make the people feel the bene¬ 
fits of the revolution. It is impossible to describe 
the effervescence which burst forth in the assem 
bly at this declaration. There was no longer 
calmness or reflection. Each came forward with 
a sacrifice—each laid a fresh offering upon the 
altar of his country—each despoiled himself or 
despoiled others. There was no time taken 
for consideration, or for objection; a sentimen¬ 
tal contagion seemed to drag every heart into 
one general torrent. This renunciation of all 
privileges, this abandonment of so many rights 
burthensome to the people, these multiplied sa¬ 
crifices bore a stamp of magnanimity which covered 
with its splendor the indecent haste and preci¬ 
pitation, so ill-suited to legislators, with which 
they were made. On this night I saw good and 
brave deputies shed tears of joy on perceiving 
their work of political regeneration advance 
so rapidly, and on finding themselves borne on 
the wings of enthusiasm even beyond their 


118 


RECOLLECTIONS 


most sanguine hopes. It is true that all were 
not actuated by the same feeling. He who 
found himself ruined by a proposition unani¬ 
mously agreed to, moved another from spite, and 
because he would not suffer alone. But the 
assembly were not in the secret of the principal 
movers of these measures, and the latter took 
advantage of the general enthusiasm to carry 
their point. The renunciation of the provincial 
privileges was made by the deputies of the re¬ 
spective provinces. The deputies from Brittany, 
who had promised to maintain theirs, were much 
more embarrassed ; but they came forward in a 
body and declared that they would exert their 
utmost influence with their constituents to obtain 
a ratification of this abandonment of their privi¬ 
leges. This great and magnanimous measure 
was necessary to restore political unity in a 
kingdom formed by a successive aggregation of 
several smaller states, each of which had pre¬ 
served certain antiquated rights and particular 
privileges which it was now necessary to de¬ 
stroy, in order to form a social body susceptible 
of receiving one general constitution. 

The following day brought reflection, and 
with it discontent. Mirabeau and Sieyes, each. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


119 


however, from personal motives, very strongly re¬ 
probated the madness of such enthusiasm. “ This 
is just the character of our Frenchmen,” said the 
former, “ they are three months disputing about 
syllables, and in a single night they overturn 
the whole venerable edifice of the monarchy.” 
Sieyes was more annoyed at the abolition of 
tithes than at all the rest. It was hoped that in 
a subsequent sitting the most imprudent clauses 
of these precipitate decrees might be amended ; 
but it was not easy to recall concessions which 
the people already looked upon as an indispu¬ 
table right. Sieyes made a speech full of force 
and logic, in which he showed that to abolish 
tithes without an indemnity, was spoliating the 
clergy to enrich the land owners ; for each having 
purchased his property with the burthen of tithes 
upon it, would on a sudden find himself richer 
by one tenth part, which would be a gratuitous 
present. This speech, impossible to be refuted, 
he concluded with the famous saying : “ They 

would be free, and know not how to be just. . 
The prejudice was so strong that even Sieyes 
was not listened to. He was looked upon as 
an ecclesiastic unable to forego his personal in¬ 
terest, and who was paying the tribute of error 


120 


RECOLLECTIONS 


to his gown. A little more, and he would have 
been hooted and hissed. I beheld him next day 
full of bitter resentment and profound indigna¬ 
tion against the injustice and folly of the assem¬ 
bly, whom he never pardoned. He gave vent 
to his irritated feelings in a conversation with 
Mirabeau, when the latter said to him : “ My 

dear Abb6, you have let loose the bull and you 
now complain that he gores you !" These two men 
had always a very contemptible opinion of the 
national assembly. They were well qualified to 
appreciate its faults, yet neither of them granted 
it his esteem but on condition that his own 
opinion should always prevail. If either was 
applauded, he discovered that the majority had 
good sense when left to their own judgment; 
if either received marks of disapprobation, he then 
discovered that the assembly was composed of fools 
under the influence of a few seditious members. 1 
have often seen Mirabeau graduate his opinion by 
this kind of thermometer; and assuredly he was 
not the only one. The contempt of Sieyes might 
have been thought sincere, because he did not 
lay himself out for applause, and always pre¬ 
served a disdainful silence; but Mirabeau was 
infected with the speaking mania, and no one 


OF MIRABEAU. 


121 


could for a moment believe that he was indiffe¬ 
rent to applause. Both felt that a single legisla¬ 
tive assembly was insufficient, because there was 
nothing to control it; and the occurrences of the 
4th of August proved to what extent the conta¬ 
gion of enthusiasm and eloquence could in¬ 
fluence its proceedings , and make it adopt the 
most absurd measures. 

Far from having put a stop to violence and 
brigandage, the decrees of the 4th of August 
showed the people their strength and convinced 
them that the most monstrous attacks upon the 
nobility would be overlooked, if they did not even 
elicit a recompense. I repeat, that what is 
granted through fear, never satisfies ; and they 
whom you think your concessions will disarm, 
acquire tenfold confidence and audacity. 


122 


RECOLLECTIONS 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Soon after the discussion on the decrees of 
the 4th of August, constitutional questions were 
introduced, and one of the most important was 
that of the veto . It must not be supposed that 
this subject underwent a regular debate similar 
to those in the English house of commons. A 
list of speakers for and against was made out; 
each appeared, manuscript in hand, and read a 
dissertation unconnected with any thing that 
had been urged by preceding orators. I can 
imagine nothing more disgustingly tedious than 
this species of academic lecture, — the reading 
of those heavy pamphlets teeming with repe¬ 
titions and devoid of any continued chain of argu- 


OF MIllABEAU. 


123 


ment. The form of a debate in which each speaks 
either to reply or attack, stimulates all the fa¬ 
culties and keeps up the attention; but those 
prepared speeches refuted objections which had 
never been urged, and did not refute those which 
had been urged. The proceedings were always 
in the same stage; each speaker opened the 
question, as if no other had preceded him, and 
nothing but the fanaticism attendant upon public 
events, could have resisted the mortal ennui of 
these sittings. Mirabeau had determined to 
support the absolute veto, considered of vital im¬ 
portance to the monarchy; but with regard to the 
manner of treating this question, he had placed 
himself under the tuition of the Marquis de Ca- 
seaux, author of an unintelligible book on the 
mechanism of human societies, and of another en¬ 
titled “ Simplicity of the Idea of a Constitution,” 
which no one had been able to read or understand. 
I believe that, for once, Mirabeau was not sorry 
to proceed without us. He therefore concealed 
from us his alliance with his apocalyptic friend, 
and merely informed us he was prepared and 
had made a few notes, which he should develope 
in the tribune. After being forced to listen to so 
many execrable speeches, Mirabeau’s appearance 


] 24 


RECOLLECTIONS 


in the tribune delighted every body; but scarcely 
had he begun when I recognized the style and 
doctrines of Caseaux. The embarrassed con¬ 
structions, the singularity of the words, the 
lengthy periods and the obscurity of the rea¬ 
soning soon cooled the attention of the assem¬ 
bly. It was at length made out that he supported 
the absolute veto, and this excited much disap¬ 
probation. Mirabeau, who had scarcely looked 
at this trash before he left home, threw him¬ 
self immediately into digressions, inveighed 
against despotism and by some smart things, 
which he had always at command, obtained the 
applause of the galleries; but the moment he 
reverted to his fatal manuscript, the tumult 
again commenced, and he had much difficulty 
in getting to the end of his speech, although on 
such occasions his courage never deserted him. 
By supporting the absolute veto, Mirabeau gave 
great offence to the popular party; but his 
speech was so obscure, that the galleries never 
found out what side of the question he had 
taken, and the Palais Royal, who were in a 
frenzy against the supporters of the absolute 
veto, did not cease to consider Mirabeau as one 
of its most zealous opponents. That which 


OF lMIRABEAU. 


125 


would have destroyed the popularity of any 
other, seemed to have no power over his. 
The cdtd gauche , thought that he had affected 
obscurity on this occasion in order to be able to 
turn to any side of the question; so that the 
nonsense of Caseaux was imputed to a pro¬ 
found politician, and pure machiavelism was 
traced in every part of a writing which no one 
could understand. I never saw Mirabeau out 
of countenance but this once. He confessed 
to me that as he proceeded with the ma¬ 
nuscript, which he had not before read, he 
felt himself in a cold perspiration; and that he 
had omitted one half of it without being able to 
substitute any thing in its stead, having, in his 
over confidence in Caseaux, neglected to study 
the subject. We corrected this speech a little 
before we published it in the Courrier de Pro¬ 
vence ; but the original fantastic style and ob¬ 
scurity could not be entirely effaced. It is 
thus the most important matters in legislation 
were treated; ex ungue leonem . This was the 
first constitutional question in which the people 
took a strong interest; and it may be readily 
supposed that it was a question which they 
little understood. The veto, in their eyes> 


126 


RECOLLECTIONS 


assumed every possible form—it was a monster 
that would devour them all. I shall never for¬ 
get that in going to Paris with Mirabeau, either on 
that day or the next, there were many people 
congregated on the outside of Madame le Jay’s 
shop, waiting for him. They ran to him and 
conjured him, with tears in their eyes, not to 
suffer the King to have the absolute veto. “ Mon¬ 
sieur le Comte, you are the father of the peo¬ 
ple ! You must save us, you must defend us 
against those who want to deliver us up to des¬ 
potism. If the King is to have the veto, there 
will be no further occasion for a national as¬ 
sembly ; all will be lost and we shall be slaves !” 
A thousand such absurdities were uttered, and 
all proceeded from the most earnest dread of 
a thing they had not the slightest idea of. On 
these occasions Mirabeau always displayed great 
dignity and condescension ; he managed to ap¬ 
pease them with vague answers, and dismissed 
them with a politeness somewhat patrician. 

Mirabeau did not vote upon the question, and 
that is the reason why he was not upon the 
list, taken to the Palais Royal, of those who 
had supported the absolute veto. Surely this 
conduct was pusillanimous, but he covered it 


OF MIRABEAU. 


127 


with the mask of his soi-disant contempt for 
the assembly. The proceedings on this ques¬ 
tion proved the absurdity of voting separately 
upon constitutional laws ; for it is evident that 
they must be compared with each other to try 
whether they perfectly coincide. The law which 
might be very good when combined with some 
other, might produce a very bad effect if taken 
alone. Nothing but presumption and inexpe¬ 
rience could have induced the national assembly 
to proceed in any other way, and daily issue 
unconnected constitutional decrees, without having 
previously determined upon the plan of a consti¬ 
tution, so as to have a whole before them. In 
the veto, for instance;—before they decided upon 
the question, they should have determined whether 
the legislation were to consist of two chambers or 
of only one. The settlement of the latter point 
was an indispensable preliminary; for if the 
legislature were not divided, the absolute veto 
became positively necessary to prevent the 
single chamber from usurping the supreme power. 
At the same time, the King would have been 
too weak to exercise the absolute veto against 
the strong and unanimous wish of the national 
assembly. It would not be good policy in a 


128 


RECOLLECTIONS 


sovereign, under such circumstances, to oppose the 
wish of the whole nation. If the legislature were 
divided into two sections, then the absolute veto 
would become less necessary, because there was 
not even a probability that the two sections would 
go hand in hand upon every question. One 
might, therefore, oppose the other. Thus the 
decision of one question depending upon another, 
both ought to be considered in coming to a 
conclusion. The greatest fault the assembly com¬ 
mitted, was to work upon detached parts; for 
thus it is that an irregular edifice was con¬ 
structed, without proportion or correctness. Some 
parts were too strong, others too weak. There 
were incoherent masses which could not sus¬ 
tain the slightest shock, a gigantic elevation, 
and foundations which gave way under the 
weight of the fabric. But these defects ori¬ 
ginated in an extreme ambition to shine, and in an 
eager anxiety, in making a motion, to anticipate 
that of some other member. There was nothing- 
concerted, nothing prepared. Each delighted in 
pilfering the propositions of another, in smuggling 
in an article out of its place, and in surprizing 
the assembly by something unexpected. A con¬ 
stitution committee had been appointed, but this 


OF MIRABEAU. 


129 


committee, a prey to jealousy and quarrels, could 
come to no understanding, nor direct their la¬ 
bours to a common object. It was a miniature 
likeness of the assembly ; composed of the same 
elements, the same prejudices, the same desire 
of shining exclusively and the same struggle of 
self-love. Each, in short, took upon himself to 
introduce matters according to his own judgment, 
and often for no earthly reason than to be before¬ 
hand with the others. Study and meditation 
were foreign to the habits of the assembly; its 
decrees were passed almost at the sword’s point, 
and the most fiery passions had neither truce 
nor interval. After having overthrown every 
thing that existed, all must be reconstructed at 
once; and so high an opinion had the assembly 
of their own powers, that they would willingly 
have undertaken to frame a code for all nations. 
Historians will say enough about the misfortunes 
of the revolution, but it would be not less es¬ 
sential to denounce the primitive faults which led 
to these misfortunes ; to go still further back,— 
the composition of the assembly ought to be 
examined, and particularly the circumstances in 
which originated the mistrust, the struggle be- 


K 


130 


RECOLLECTIONS 


tween the orders, the victory of the commons 
and the degradation of the royal authority. 

The most leading trait in the French character is 
self-vanity. Each member of the assembly thought 
himself equal to any undertaking. Never were 
seen so many men congregated together, who 
fancied themselves legislators, capable of re¬ 
pairing the faults of the past, finding a remedy 
for all the errors of the human mind, and se¬ 
curing the happiness of future generations. Doubt 
of their own powers never once found its way 
into their bosoms, and infallibility always pre¬ 
sided over their decisions. In vain did a strong 
minority accuse them, and protest against their 
measures ; the more they were attacked, the 
more were they satisfied with their own tran¬ 
scendent wisdom. When the King presumed to 
transmit to them some mild remonstrances upon 
the decrees of the 4th of August and the declara¬ 
tion of rights, they were surprised that ministers 
should dare to criticize their proceedings, and 
M. Necker, who was the author of the criticisms, 
began from that moment to lose his influence 
among them. 

I have been able to compare the English and 
French of the same rank in life, and I have 


OF MIRABEAU. 


131 


attended assiduously the sittings of the English 
parliament and those of the national assembly. 
There is no point of opposition in the character 
of the two nations more striking than the reserve, 
approaching timidity of the Englishman, and the 
confidence in himself displayed by the French¬ 
man. I often used to think that if a hundred 
persons indiscriminately were stopped in the 
streets of London, and the same number in the 
streets of Paris, and a proposal made to each 
individual to undertake the government of his 
country, ninety-nine would accept the offer at 
Paris and ninety-nine refuse it in London. 

Few of the speeches made in the assembly 
were written by the parties who uttered them. 
A Frenchman made no scruple of using the com¬ 
position of another, and acquiring honour by a 
species of public imposture. No Englishman of 
character would consent to play such a part. A 
Frenchman would put himself forward and make 
any motion suggested to him, without once troub¬ 
ling himself about the consequences; whilst an 
Englishman would be afraid of exposing himself, 
if he had not sufficiently studied his subject to 
be able to answer every reasonable objection, and 
support the opinion he had advanced. A French- 

k 2 


132 


RECOLLECTIONS 


man affirms upon very light grounds; an assertion 
costs him nothing ;—an Englishman is in no haste 
to believe, and before he publicly advances a fact, 
he traces it to its source, weighs his authorities, 
and makes himself master of particulars. A 
Frenchman believes that with a little wit he can 
stem a torrent of difficulties. He is ready to 
undertake things the most foreign to his habits 
and studies, and it was thus that Mirabeau got 
himself appointed reporter to the committee of 
mines, without having the slightest knowledge 
concerning mines. An Englishman would expose 
himself to eternal ridicule if he dared invade a 
department of which he knew nothing; and he is 
more disposed to refuse undertaking that which 
he is able to perform, than to be ambitious of 
doing what he knows to be beyond his powers. 
The Frenchman believes that wit supplies the 
place of every thing ; the Englishman is per¬ 
suaded that nothing can be properly done without 
both knowledge and practice. A French gentle¬ 
man being asked if he could play upon the harp¬ 
sichord, replied, “ I do not know, for I never 
tried ; but I will go and see.” Now this is badi¬ 
nage, but make it serious;—for harpsichord sub¬ 
stitute government, and for music, legislation. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


133 


and, instead of one French gentleman you would 
find twelve hundred. 

Romilly had written a very interesting work 
upon the regulations observed in the English 
house of commons. These regulations are the 
fruit of long and closely reasoned experience; 
and the more they are examined, the more worthy 
are they found of admiration. They are rigorously 
enforced in an assembly extremely jealous of 
innovation ; and as they are not written, it re¬ 
quired much pains and labour to collect them. 
This little code indicated the best manner of 
putting questions, preparing motions, discussing 
them, telling the votes, appointing committees,— 
of carrying on, in short, all the proceedings of a 
political assembly. At the commencement of the 
meeting of the states-general, I translated this 
work. Mirabeau presented it, and deposited it 
upon the bureau of the commons, at the time when 
it was in contemplation to draw up a set of regu¬ 
lations for the national assembly. “ We are not 
English, and we want nothing English !” was the 
reply. This translation of Romilly’s work, al¬ 
though printed, was not taken the least notice of; 
nor did any member ever condescend to inquire 
how matters were conducted in so celebrated an 


134 


RECOLLECTIONS 


assembly as the British parliament. The national 
vanity was wounded at the idea of borrowing the 
wisdom of any other people, and they preferred 
maintaining their own defective and dangerous 
mode of conducting their proceedings, of which 
the sitting of the 4th of August was a painful 
illustration. 

When Brissot talked about constitution, his 
familiar phrase was, “ That is what lost Engv 
land/’ Sieyes, Dupont, Condorcet, and many 
others with whom I was acquainted, were pre-r 
cisely of the same way of thinking. “ How!” 
once replied Duroverai, feigning astonishment, 
“ is England lost ? when did you receive the 
news, and in what latitude was she lost ?” The 
laugh was against Brissot; and Mirabeau, who 
was then writing one of his speeches against 
Mounier, attributed to the latter Brissot’s stupid 
saying, in order to have the pleasure of making 
him the object of Duroverai’s bon-mot. Mounier 
complained of this in his first pamphlet, wherein 
he points out Mirabeau’s mistatements relative to 
a sitting of which he professed to give a faithful 
account. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


135 


CHAPTER IX. 


I have not many recollections of the month 
of September. During that period I met at Mi- 
rabeau’s two men of very different characters. 
The first was Camille Desmoulins, who signed 
several of his writings, as the attorney-general of 
the lantern . It must not, however, be imagined 
that he excited the people to use the lantern posts 
in the stead of gallows, an abomination attributed 
to him by M. Bertrand de Molleville ;—quite the 
reverse, he pointed out the danger and injustice 
of such summary executions, but in a tone of 
lightness and badinage by no means in keeping 
with so serious a subject. Camille appeared to 
me what is called a good fellow; of rather exag¬ 
gerated feelings, devoid of reflection or judgment' 


136 


RECOLLECTIONS 


as ignorant as he was unthinking, not deficient in 
wit, but in politics possessing not even the first 
elements of reason. Walking with him one day, I 
gave him some explanations on the constitution of 
England, of which he had been talking with the 
most profound ignorance of the subject. Three 
years afterwards, Camille, who had become a great 
man, by means of his jacobinism and his intimacy 
with Robespierre, and had cultivated his talents, 
wrote a work, in which, giving an account of his 
own life since the beginning of the revolution, he 
condescended, en passant, to give me a kindly 
recollection by representing me as an emissary of 
Pitt placed near Mirabeau to mislead him, and 
as preaching the English constitution at Ver¬ 
sailles. I never read this work, but have been 
told that it was clever, Camille being one of 
those whom circumstances have led to acquire 
talents. 

The other person whom I met at Mirabeau’s 
was La Clos, the author of the Liaisons Dan- 
gereuses. This individual, belonging to the house¬ 
hold of the Duke of Orleans, was witty though 
sombre, taciturn and reserved ; with the face and 
look of a conspirator, he was so cold and distant, 
that although I met him several times, I scarcely 


OF MIRABEAU. 


137 


ever spoke to him. I knew not his object in 
visiting Mirabeau. The events of the 5th and 
6th of July have been attributed to the Duke of 
Orleans, and Mirabeau was implicated in the 
conspiracy. The national assembly decreed that 
there was no ground of accusation against either. 
But the acquittal of the assembly is not the ver¬ 
dict of history, and many doubts require still to 
be solved before a correct judgment can be 
formed. Notwithstanding rny intimacy with Mi¬ 
rabeau at this period, he never let me into the 
secret of his having formed any connection with 
the Duke of Orleans. If then such a fact be true, 
I am not aware of it. In my recollections of the 
most minute circumstances which could not fail 
to betray a man so confiding and imprudent as 
Mirabeau, I find not the slightest ground for 
supposing him an accomplice in the project 
against the ctfurt. It is true, nevertheless, that 
his intimacy with La Clos might indicate some 
intention on the part of the Duke to negociate 
with him for his services. Mirabeau sometimes 
visited Montrouge, and once or twice, I believe, 
met the Duke there ; but it cannot be inferred 
from this that they conspired together. I re¬ 
member hearing him speak somewhat favourably 


138 


RECOLLECTIONS 


of this prince, that is to say of his natural talents; 
for in morals he said that nothing must be imputed 
to the Duke, who had lost his-taste, and could 
not therefore distinguish good from evil. About 
the same time, Mirabeau said to Duroverai and 
me, “ I am quite astonished at finding myself a 
philosopher, because I was born to be an adven¬ 
turer. But, who knows ? They are going to tear 
the kingdom to pieces ; I have some interest in 
Provence....” Duroverai interrupted him with 
a laugh. “ Ah ! he already thinks himself Count 
of Provence.”—“Well,” replied Mirabeau, “many 
have risen from smaller beginnings.” All this 
was but the result of high animal spirits, and his 
fervent imagination anticipated nothing but ruin 
and overthrow. 

The only circumstance I know to his disad¬ 
vantage, was his preparing a work which he 
concealed from us. When the assembly quitted 
Versailles, to meet at Paris, Duroverai and I 
having called at Mirabeau’s, who was already 
gone, to collect some papers which concerned us 
jointly, le Jay arrived in a travelling dress, and 
had a van at the door. He seemed much 
agitated, and had some difficulty in making us 
comprehend the cause. He had been somewhere 


OF MIRABEAU. 


139 


to fetch the edition of a book which had been 
printed clandestinely, ought to have arrived a 
week sooner, and which he was now afraid of 
taking to Paris. “ What edition ? What book ? 
What is it about “ Why,” replied le Jay, 
“ it is the book against royalty.” — “Against 
royalty, pray bring us a copy.” It was a small 
volume, with a preface by Mirabeau, and the 
name of the author. I do not remember the 
precise title, but I think it was “ On Royalty , 
extracted from Milton .” It was an abridgement 
or translation from Milton. Detached passages 
had been united, and a complete body of doc- 
trine formed from the republican writings of the 
great English poet. I recollect seeing Mirabeau 
occupied about this translation with his friend 
Servan, governor of the pages, who, like all the 
inhabitants of Versailles, was hostile to the court. 
Servan was afterwards minister of war. After 
the events of the 5th and 6th of October, such a 
publication by a member of the national assembly 
was not only a libel, but an act of high treason. 
We were the more annoyed at this conduct, be¬ 
cause the first suspicions of Mirabeau’s intimate 
acquaintances would have fallen upon us, as being 
naturally inclined to republicanism, and being, 


140 


RECOLLECTIONS 


moreover, familiar with the English language. 
But independently of our own feelings, Mirabeau’s 
situation was calculated to alarm us dreadfully. 
Duroverai put le Jay into such a fright that he 
already fancied himself in the Chatelet or La 
Tournelle. lie consented to every thing we pro¬ 
posed, and we brought the whole edition into the 
house, and burned it the same day. Le Jay 
saved about a dozen copies. This expedition 
over, he returned to Paris, and gave an account to 
his wife of the dangers he had incurred, together 
with the manner in which we had got him out of 
the scrape. Madame le Jay, who had placed 
great dependence upon this libel, fell upon the 
poor husband, called him a fool, and made him 
feel at the same time her double superiority in 
strength and intelligence. She next went to 
Mirabeau, and denounced Duroverai; but Mira- 
beau had too much sense not to perceive that the 
book would have proved his ruin, had it been 
published. All he wanted was to keep it in re¬ 
serve against a future favorable opportunity ; but 
he had behaved too ill in the business to dare to 
reproach us with the loss of a few thousand 
francs. I confess that on reflecting since upon 
this affair, the time at which it occurred—the 


OF MIKABEAU. 


141 


delay of the edition, and the week earlier when 
it ought to have arrived—le Jay’s journey to 
fetch it, and the secrecy which he was enjoined to 
preserve—I am sometimes tempted to think that 
the work was associated with some important 
event, and that Mirabeau was in the secret of the 
occurrences of the 5th and 6th of October. But 
on the other hand, I know that this compilation 
was begun long before, and that Mirabeau’s rage 
for publishing was so great that it often got the 
better of all prudential considerations. The best 
conclusion at which I can arrive, after deliberately 
weighing every circumstance, is that, taking it for 
granted that the insurrection of Versailles was 
conducted by the Duke of Orleans, La Clos was 
too able a tactitian to place the whole affair at 
Mirabeau’s discretion, but had engaged him con¬ 
ditionally with only a partial confidence, and left 
a wide loop-hole to creep out at. It is impossible 
not to think that there was some connexion 
between them. “ Instead of a glass of brandy, 
a bottle was given.” This is the figure by which 
Mirabeau explained the movement of Paris, upon 
Versailles. I presume that if the King had fled, 
Mirabeau would have proclaimed the Duke of 
Orleans lieutenant-general of the kingdom, and 


142 


RECOLLECTIONS 


would have become his prime minister. Such a 
scheme might easily find place in a brain like 
Mirabeau’s, and his subsequent anger against the 
Duke of Orleans might lead to the idea that he 
had been deceived in his expectations. M. de 
Lafayette is perhaps acquainted with the secret 
of these events originating, perhaps, in the spon¬ 
taneous rising of the people, excited by a dread 
of famine which had, for the time being, produced 
a real famine. 

I was at Versailles, and saw part of what 
passed. But I know nothing in particular, 
neither did I see any thing that could characterise 
either a settled plan or a conspiracy. I can even 
say that when the event occurred, it was not 
explained in the same manner as it has since 
been. The people attributed the dearth to the 
aristocracy. The aristocrats, they said, destroyed 
the corn before it reached maturity, paid the 
bakers not to work, suspended trade, and threw 
the flour into the rivers ;—in short, there was 
no absurdity too gross to appear improbable. 
The popular journals did not cease to circulate 
the grossest falsehoods. The arrival of a new 
regiment at Versailles had renewed the public 
alarm. The f&te which had been given at the 


OF MIRABEAU. 


143 


palace to the officers, was inconceivably im¬ 
prudent. It could not be termed a con¬ 
spiracy, because people do not conspire at a 
public banquet of five hundred persons; but 
several anti-popular songs were sung, the na¬ 
tional cockade insulted, the infant Dauphin led 
about, and the King and Queen, yielding to the 
enjoyment of these testimonies of affection, in¬ 
creased, by their presence, the general enthu¬ 
siasm. At any other period, it would not have 
been imputed as a crime, that the young officers 
of the King’s guard should become animated at a 
banquet, and display their affection for the royal 
family. The cloud which hung over this un¬ 
happy family, and the misfortunes which threat¬ 
ened them, were a fresh stimulus to the feelings 
of chivalrous honor which pervaded the bosoms 
of these young nobles, devoted by profession to 
the defence of their sovereign. But when the 
particulars of this banquet were made public, 
with every possible exaggeration, it was con¬ 
strued into an intention of rendering the revo¬ 
lution odious, and of forming a fresh league for 
the King’s defence, and was therefore denounced 
in the assembly as evidence of a court conspiracy 


144 


RECOLLECTIONS 


against the people. The cot& droit was furious, 
and inveighed against the calumny. Mirabeau, 
whom Servan had excited, threw himself into the 
midst of the tumult, and declared that he was 
ready to name the principal author in the impious 
f&te, provided it were decreed beforehand that the 
Kings person was sacred and inviolable. This 
single expression, which cast a direct accusation 
upon the Queen, threw the cote droit into con¬ 
sternation, and made the democrats themselves 
fear that they had gone too far. 

If, on this occasion, Mirabeau had adopted the 
most generous line of policy, and opposed the 
popular rage, it would have been easy to give 
another colour to this circumstance, and place 
those testimonies of affection for the King in a 
favorable point of view. He might have openly 
complained of its being supposed that the entire 
assembly did not participate in these marks of 
affection, and have proposed a similar f&te at 
which the King should appear surrounded by all 
the representatives of France. He might, at the 
same time, have asked for the removal of the 
regiment of Flanders, whose presence was un¬ 
necessary. But it must be admitted that this 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


145 


assembly, though very prodigal of their ex¬ 
pressions of attachment to the King, had never 
yet shown it by any tangible act. 

The dearth which kept the people in a state of 
effervescence, and the banquet scene at the 
chateau appeared, at the time, sufficient to 
account for the insurrection at Paris, and the 
invasion at Versailles. 

It was not till afterwards that a plot was 
imagined and attributed to the Duke of Orleans. 
This suspicion acquired consistency when it was 
known that M. de Lafayette had insisted upon 
the Duke leaving Paris, and proceeding to 
England. The secret of this intrigue has never 
transpired, but I recollect that two years after, in 
a confidential conversation with M. de Talley¬ 
rand, bishop of Autun, that prelate uttered these 
remarkable words : “ The Duke of Orleans is the 
slop-pail into which is thrown all the filth of the 
revolution ! ” 

The following, so far as my recollection serves 
me, was Mirabeau’s conduct during these two 
days. On the fifth, we dined with M. Servan, in 
the palace called les Petites-Ecuries, in which, 
as governor of the pages, he had apartments. 
We could see from the windows opening upon the 

L 


146 


RECOLLECTIONS 


great square, the arrival of the Parisian mul¬ 
titudes, including the poissarcles or fish-women, 
and the market porters. This crowd demanded 
nothing but bread. The regiment of Flanders, 
and the national guard were drawn up outside 
the external enclosure of the chateau. The 
King’s guards, both cavalry and infantry, were 
formed within the great and lesser courts. There 
was a tumultuous movement among the crowd, 
the cause of which we could not well distinguish. 
Mirabeau was not long with us ; nay, I have an 
idea that he did not stay to dinner. Though the 
crowd was great, and there was no knowing what 
might happen, we walked about every where. 
We saw the King’s carriages go off through un¬ 
frequented streets, and thought they were con¬ 
veying the royal family to a place of safety. 
Tired of wandering, I went to the assembly at 
about eight o’clock in the evening. The hall 
presented a curious spectacle. It had been in¬ 
vaded by the people from Paris, and was quite 
full of them. The galleries were crowded with 
women and men armed with halberts, bludgeons, 
and pikes. The sitting was suspended, but a 
message came from the King, calling upon 
the President to resume it, and send a de- 


OF MIRABEAU. 


147 


putation to the chateau. I went to Mirabeau, 
whom I found in bed, although it was not yet 
eleven o’clock. He rose, and we returned to the 
assembly. When we arrived, the President was 
exhausting his strength in a fruitless endeavour 
to obtain silence. Mirabeau immediately raised 
his voice, and called upon the President to make 
the assembly respected, and order the strangers 
in the hall to quit the members’ benches, which 
they had invaded. It required all Mirabeau’s po¬ 
pularity to succeed. By degrees the populace with¬ 
drew, and the deputies began to discuss some 
clauses of the penal code. In the gallery in which 
I was sitting, there was a poissarde who assumed 
superior authority, and directed the motions of 
about a hundred women, awaiting her orders to 
make a noise or be silent. She called familiarly to 
the deputies, and said, “ Who is speaking yonder ? 
Make that babbler hold his tongue ! We do not 
want his speechifying; we want bread ! Let our 
little mother Mirabeau speak ; we should like to 
hear him ! ” Our little mother Mirabeau became 
the cry of the whole band ; but Mirabeau was 
not a man to shew off on such occasions, and his 
popularity never made him lose sight of his 
dignity. 

l 2 


148 


RECOLLECTIONS 


About midnight, an aide-de-camp announced 
the arrival of M. de Lafayette, at the head of the 
national guard of Paris, and every one now 
thought himself safe. The soldiers of the national 
guard had renewed their oath of fidelity to the 
law and the King, and the multitude on being 
made acquainted with the Kings assurances, be¬ 
came calmer. About two in the morning, we left 
the assembly, which was still sitting. On awak¬ 
ing some hours after, a confused account was 
given me of what had occurred; of the inva¬ 
sion of the chateau, and the disarming of the 
guards. These events were then attributed to 
misunderstandings, imprudences, and chance 
quarrels. Mirabeau went early to the assembly, 
and I was informed that he opposed a compli¬ 
ance with the King’s desire of removing the as¬ 
sembly to the chateau, as the only means of keep¬ 
ing the multitude in check. The pretended dig¬ 
nity, which he put forward as a reason for send¬ 
ing only a deputation, certainly appeared sus¬ 
picious. Was that a time to consult etiquette ? 
Was there a duty more imperious than that of 
forming a living rampart around the monarch in 
danger? Certain it is, that had a conspiracy against 
the King really existed, and Mirabeau been 


OF M1HABEAU. 


149 


an accomplice, he could not have behaved other¬ 
wise than he did. But, on the other hand, how 
happened it, that the assembly, who surely were 
not in the plot, all so instantly concurred in his 
opinion ? This is a reason for believing that he had 
only taken advantage of the general feeling, and 
that his motion was not premeditated. There was, 
at this time, a marked opposition between the court 
and the national assembly, because the King had 
given but a half sanction to the declaration of the 
rights of man, and to the explanatory decrees of 
the 4th of August. The assembly was mean 
enough, on this occasion, to take advantage of the 
disorder, and call upon the King for his full and 
unqualified consent; just as if his refusal had been 
one of the causes of the insurrection. Mounier 
presided on that day ;—Mirabeau was very jealous 
of him, and had, perhaps, no other motive, even 
without being conscious of it, than a desire to get 
the better of Mounier, and injure him, by repre¬ 
senting his opinion as derogatory from the national 
dignity. I did not, at the time, make these re¬ 
flections, because, such was the rapidity of 
events, that one impression was soon effaced by 
another. 

Several deputies, against whom the fury of the 


150 


RECOLLECTIONS 


populace had been excited, took to flight; and 
having no hope from a revolution effected by 
such means, they dared not return to Paris, but 
abandoned their post. Lally-Tolendal and Mou- 
nier were among the number. There were fifty- 
five or fifty-six. This desertion was not justifia¬ 
ble. But, on taking into consideration the vio¬ 
lence they had suffered, it would be but fair, prior 
to accusing them of cowardice, that we should 
ourselves have suffered, for a time, the same out¬ 
rages. I never met Mounier but once, and I was 
present at a conversation between him and Mira- 
beau, at the house of a painter. Mounier’s ac¬ 
count of this conversation is quite correct. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


151 


CHAPTER X. 

I did not before allude to Mirabeau’s celebrated 
speech on the national bankruptcy, because I 
wished, under the same head, to add a few further 
observations. 

Mirabeau was not well acquainted with the 
subject, although he had published several papers 
on it, such as “ The Bank of St. Charles ,” “ The 
Denunciation of Stock-jobbing ,” &c. But he had 
two able coadjutors in Panchaud and Clavikre, the 
former of whom said, that Mirabeau was the first 
man in the world to speak on a question he knew 
nothing about. A ready conception, and the hap¬ 
piest expressions enabled him easily to lead ar¬ 
tificial minds astray. When, from the effects of 
the revolution, the public revenue was considera¬ 
bly diminished, and the taxes of scarcely any 


152 


RECOLLECTIONS 


value, M. Necker, unable to keep in motion an 
immense machine, whose moving power was al¬ 
most annihilated, proposed to the assembly, a 
loan, to which he had endeavoured to give a very 
seductive form. He wanted, for this purpose, to 
make use of the credit of the caisse d'escompte. 
Clavi&re, who, I believe, had some feeling of per¬ 
sonal hostility towards the company of the caisse 
d'escompte , engaged Mirabeau to oppose the mea¬ 
sure. The assembly attempted to organize the 
loan, and proceeded with as little intelligence as 
on many other occasions. The consequence was, 
that the measure was unsuccessful, and the na¬ 
tional credit, about which so much had been said, 
became worse than useless. M. Necker was soon 
after, forced to present another project, a species 
of patriotic loan, somewhat resembling an income 
tax. This time, Mirabeau determined to support 
the minister, to whom, however, he was per¬ 
sonally hostile. There had been no intercourse 
between them ; for the intimacy which Duroverai 
and Mallouet, had attempted to bring about, had 
failed. Some persons suspected, that Mirabeau’s 
support was given, in order to fix upon Necker 
the responsibility of the certain failure of the 
plan. Several stupid members, who thought 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


153 


that the assembly would be wanting in dignity, 
if it adopted ministerial measures without alter¬ 
ing something in them, proposed several modifica¬ 
tions. Mirabeau was of opinion, that the plan 
required no alteration, and eagerly pressed the 
assembly to adopt it as it was. His principal 
argument was, the ill success of the last project 
of loan, which the friends of the minister attri¬ 
buted to the assembly, who, by ill-judged modi¬ 
fications, had altered its nature. Thence pro¬ 
ceeding to remark upon the dangerous state of 
public credit, and the failure of the revenue, he 
represented a national bankruptcy, as the proba¬ 
ble consequence of the rejection of this plan. 
The force with which he presented so common¬ 
place a subject, was miraculous; he elevated it 
to sublimity. They who heard this speech will 
never forget it; it excited every gradation of 
terror, and a devouring gulph, with the groans of 
the victims it swallowed, of which the orator 
gave a very appaling description, seemed pictured 
to the senses of the audience. 

The triumph was complete ; not an attempt was 
made to reply. The assembly were subjugated 
by that power of a superior and energetic mind, 
which acts upon the multitude, as if it were only 


154 


RECOLLECTIONS 


a single individual, and the project was adopted 
without a dissenting voice. From that day, Mi- 
rabeau was considered as a being superior to 
other men. He had no rival. There were, in¬ 
deed, other orators, but he alone was eloquent; 
and this impression was stronger, because, in his 
speech on this question, he was obliged to depend 
entirely upon his own resources; for it was an 
unexpected reply, and could not, therefore, have 
been prepared.* 

* This is the passage in Mirabeau’s reply, to which M. Dumont 
alludes : “ Oh! if less solemn declarations did not insure our res¬ 
pect for public faith, and our horror of the infamous word bank¬ 
ruptcy, I would search into the secret motives, unknown, perhaps, 
to ourselves, which make us draw back at the very instant we are 
called upon to consummate a great sacrifice;—inefficacious, it is 
true, unless it be sincere;—and I would say to those who, from 
the fear of sacrifices and the dread of taxes, are, perhaps, fami¬ 
liarizing their minds with the idea of not keeping faith with the 
public creditor:—What is such a bankruptcy itself, but the most 
cruel, the most iniquitous, the most unequal, and the most ruinous 
of taxes ?—My friends, listen to a word—a single word!—Two 
centuries of depredations and robbery, have dug the gulph into 
which the kingdom is about to fall. This horrible gulph must 
be filled up! But how ? There is but one way. Here is a 
list of rich men in France. Choose from among the richest, in order 
that you may sacrifice fewer citizens ;—but choose, at all events, 
for must not the smaller number perish to save the great mass of 


OF MIRABEAU. 


155 


Mol6 the celebrated actor at the Theatre Fran - 
fais, was present. The force and dramatic effect 
of Mirabeau’s eloquence, and the sublimity of his 
voice, had made a deep impression upon this dis¬ 
tinguished comedian, who, with visible emotion, 
approached the orator to offer his compliments. 
“ Ah ! Monsieur le Comte,” said he in a pathetic 
tone of voice, “what a speech! and with what 
an accent did you deliver it! You have surely 
missed your vocation!” Mol6 smiled on perceiv¬ 
ing the singularity of the compliment which his 
dramatic enthusiasm had led him to utter, but 
Mirabeau was much flattered by it. 

Some days after, in the beginning of October, 
the King being already at Paris, it was deter¬ 
mined to press this ministerial measure by an 
address from the national assembly to the nation. 
Mirabeau was requested to write this address, 
and he transferred the task to me. I undertook 
it with more readiness because I was still of 

the people ? Well! These two thousand rich men, are possessed of 
sufficient wealth to make up the deficiency. Restore order to your 
finances, peace and prosperity to the country;—strike, immolate 
your victims, without pity; precipitate them into the abyss and it 
will close... .What, do you draw back horror-struck, ye incon¬ 
sistent, ye pusillanimous men ! Well, then do you not perceive, 
&c. &c ”—Note by the Genevese Editor. 


158 


RECOLLECTIONS 


opinion that a solemn address, supported by 
authority, might yet serve as a vehicle for im¬ 
portant truths. I had no desire to palliate the 
excesses of the revolution, but wished, on the con¬ 
trary, to prove, in the strongest manner possible, 
that the nation would be lost if it were misled 
any longer by wrong notions of liberty, whose 
mask licentiousness had assumed to render her 
odious. This composition was not so rapid as 
the address to the King, because the subject was 
more complicated and delicate ; for great caution 
was requisite not to offend the assembly itself 
whose ears were irritable as those of a despot, 
and who took umbrage at the most indirect re¬ 
proach. I devoted three days to this work, 
which was well received, but produced upon the 
nation just about as much effect as a sermon upon 
a congregation. Scarcely had it been applauded, 
when it was already forgotten. I found among 
my papers the original of this address almost in 
the same state as when I gave it to Mirabeau; 
there being only two or three slight alterations 
made by the committee appointed to draw it up.* 
Soon after this occurrence, Duroverai commu- 


* Vide Appendix, No. 3 . 


OF MI HA BEAU. 


157 


nicated to me a proposal made him by M. De- 
lessert a banker of Paris, that we should accept 
a sum of money as a testimony of gratitude for 
the services we had rendered in supporting M. 
Necker’s project; for our influence over Mira- 
beau was well known ; and my contributions to 
several of his speeches, together with the hand I 
had in framing the address to the nation, were at 
least suspected. M. Delessert spoke in the name 
of several bankers, and offered a hundred louis- 
d’or as his share of the contribution. Duroverai 
had neither accepted nor refused, but said he 
would mention the matter to me. I was very 
angry that he had not immediately declined the 
offer of these gentlemen, in the strongest terms, 
as he certainly would have done had it pre¬ 
ceded instead of following the service. We had 
not acted in the matter with any view to their ad¬ 
vantage—they, therefore, owed us nothing; and 
1 could not but perceive a bribe in disguise, 
in this pretended display of gratitude. A 
gift which cannot be loudly avowed and pub¬ 
licly proclaimed—a gift, in short, that will not 
bear the light of day, stamps itself as illicit, and 
conveys a pledge of venality. The simple suspi¬ 
cion of personal interest appeared to me so dis¬ 
graceful, that Duroverai had much difficulty in 


158 


RECOLLECTIONS 


convincing me that there was no insult in M. 
Delessert’s offer. The answer was dictated by 
these feelings ;—for it is clear that this was an at¬ 
tempt upon our delicacy, and not a very indirect 
one. I soon forgot the matter, and never took 
the trouble to mention it to M. Delessert. 

When the assembly was transferred to Paris, 
and met at the archbishop’s palace, I prevailed 
upon Mirabeau to move a vote of thanks to M. 
Bailly and M. de Lafayette, and I composed a 
speech for him in which I pointed out the diffi¬ 
culties which, amid these political hurricanes, they 
had to encounter as public men. As he had al¬ 
ways been envious of their popularity, this proposal 
displeased him at first; but I well knew that he 
would not resist the temptation of being thought 
the author of a motion, written in a style that 
pleased him. The maire and commandant of 
Paris were the more flattered at this, because it 
was unexpected, and I had the satisfaction of 
bringing together, at least for some days, men 
whose union appeared to me advantageous to the 
country. Jealousy, hatred, and malevolence were 
the plagues which seemed to have attached them¬ 
selves to the principal actors in the revolution. 
Could the latter have been brought to act in con¬ 
cert, they would have imparted a uniform motion 


OF MI11ABEAU. 


159 


both to the assembly and to the nation. But my 
hopes in this respect were the illusions of inexpe¬ 
rience. No power but that of a government can 
suspend individual passions, and give them an 
impulsion towards a common object. In weak 
administrations, a thousand contending currents 
are formed, and each candidate for public favour, 
desirous of feathering his own nest, hates his fel¬ 
lows because he considers them rivals, and they 
thus mutually weaken each other until, at length, 
they all fall under the domination of one. 

Lafayette was now in the meridian of his 
power. He was master of the chateau, and the 
national guard were wholly devoted to him. But 
he bore his honours meekly, his intentions were 
pure and his personal character elicited general 
esteem. His house, under the direction of his 
virtuous and religious wife, was distinguished by 
that decorum of manners which the French nobles 
had too much neglected. I was invited by him 
to dinner to meet Mirabeau, M. de la Roche¬ 
foucauld, M. de Liancourt, and many others. 
I was in the full enjoyment of a reconciliation 
which I had brought about, without any one sus¬ 
pecting my share in the business. 


160 


RECOLLECTIONS 


A s far as I can remember, a scheme for bring¬ 
ing Mirabeau into office, was talked of, about this 
period. There were conferences and negociations 
on the subject. M. Necker had almost agreed 
to it—the King was about to consent—but there 
was a sine qua non of Mirabeau’s, which was that 
he should remain member of the assembly, with¬ 
out which he felt that his taking office would 
prove his destruction without advantage to the 
public cause. A suspicion of this project seemed 
to exist in the assembly. Perhaps it arose 
from secret treachery, or may be, simple indis¬ 
cretion. Be that as it may, whilst the negocia- 
tion was still pending, Lameth, or Noailles, or Du¬ 
pont, or some one of that party, moved that no 
member should accept an office in the executive, 
nor a King’s minister sit in the assembly. Mira¬ 
beau opposed the motion in vain. Duroverai, I 
think, wrote a very powerful speech for him on this 
occasion. The votes were nearly equal, but the 
motion was carried by a feeble majority. An 
appeal to the usage in the English parliament, 
instead of telling against the motion, was instru¬ 
mental to its success. The least idea of imita¬ 
tion offended the pride of the innovators, who 


OF MIKA BEAU. 


161 


pretended to establish a monarchical form of 
government without preserving a single element 
of monarchy. Mirabeau’s exasperation may 
easily be imagined, when he found his ambitious 
hopes overthrown by this motion of the Lameths 
and their party. 

In the constitution-committee, Sieyes had made 
two proposals which were rejected, and which, 
according to custom, he had not taken the least 
trouble to get accepted. One was a civic in¬ 
scription, to admit young men, with a certain 
degree of solemnity, into the body of active 
citizens. I liked this idea, not as a great legisla¬ 
tive measure, but as a means of inspection and 
education for youth. I wrote a short speech 
upon it, which Mirabeau pronounced at the assem¬ 
bly, and the proposal was unanimously adopted. 
Sieyes was delighted at the humiliation of the 
committee. He was much pleased with Mira¬ 
beau, and still more so with me. It was not a 
difficult matter for him to guess my share in the 
business ; for after the rejection of the proposal by 
the committee, he had mentioned it in a conversa¬ 
tion at the house of the Bishop of Chartres, and 
I had expressed my opinion on the subject. 

The other proposal, which I likewise treated 

M 


162 


RECOLLECTIONS 


with the same success, has escaped my memory, 
but I shall find it in looking over the numbers of 
the Courrier de Provence . 

The question of qualifications for a deputy 
having been brought forward, Duroverai wrote a 
speech for Mirabeau, which tended to declare 
bankrupts ineligible to any public employment. 
This was one of the laws of Geneva, to prove the 
utility of which, Montesquieu had devoted a 
whole chapter. There are, however, some strong 
objections to the principle. A merchant may 
fail without being to blame, and it is hard to 
punish misfortune by a disgraceful exclusion. 
A bankrupt may be a man of overwhelming 
talent, and it would not be just to deprive the 
public of his services. Experience at Geneva, 
however, had shown that the advantages of this 
law more than counterbalanced its evils, and the 
authority of Montesquieu, though not very pow¬ 
erful with the democratic party, contributed, 
nevertheless, to the success of the motion. M. 
Reybaz sent a laughable letter on this subject to 
the Courrier de Provence * 

I forgot to mention another law passed at Ver- 


* Vide Appendix, No. 4 . 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


163 


sailles, after the King had gone to Paris, and sug¬ 
gested by Duroverai; namely, the martial law . 
Insurrections had become so frequent, that the 
duties of a municipal officer or a town-major 
were more difficult than when in the presence of 
a hostile army. In many places the troops, im¬ 
bued with the revolutionary spirit of the day, 
instead of supporting the authorities, had joined 
the people. The revolution existed in the army 
as in the nation. A handful of mutineers were 
sufficient to make the commandant of a citadel 
tremble. Every act of personal defence became a 
capital crime, and the clamours of the populace 
were more formidable than an enemy’s battery. 
Mirabeau had long thought that this popular dic- 
tature should be put down, and, if I mistake not, 
was the first to propose the martial law, which 
encountered a violent opposition. It is remark¬ 
able that he again opposed the popular party, and 
yet his popularity was not affected by it. Duro¬ 
verai drew up the law upon the English model, 
and England was often, though improperly, 
quoted throughout this debate. There were at 
this period at Versailles, two English barristers 
with whom I was intimate. Duroverai, who had 
a superabundance of activity in the pursuit of 

m 2 


] 64 


RECOLLECTIONS 


his plan, requested that I would ask them to 
write a letter to Mirabeau, explaining martial law 
as it existed in England. I told him that I was 
sure of not succeeding in such a demand; I had 
good reasons for thinking so, and it was not until 
repeatedly urged by Duroverai, that I consented 
to make the application. I asked my English 
friends if they would answer a letter from Mira¬ 
beau, soliciting information on the subject; but 
I could obtain nothing from either. They would 
not expose themselves to have their names men¬ 
tioned, their letter shown, or to the suspicion of 
having, in any way, attempted to influence the de¬ 
liberations of the assembly. 

I should not have mentioned this circumstance 
but to remark, that this reserve belongs to the 
national character of the English, and that the 
fear of appearing in a matter in which they had 
no concern—the suspicion of intrigue or officious 
interference, is a feeling as common among Eng¬ 
lishmen, as the desire of taking a prominent part 
and interfering with every thing, is a universal 
feeling among Frenchmen. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


165 


CHAPTER XI. 

I have, in my head, a confusion of dates con¬ 
cerning the occurrences of November and Decem¬ 
ber. It was in the former month, that Duroverai 
went to England. His absence, which was not 
to have exceeded a week, lasted five or six. M. 
Reybaz, who, as I have already stated, undertook 
to supply his place in the Courrier de Provence , 
seldom attended the assembly, from which he re¬ 
sided at too great a distance, but took his mate¬ 
rials from other journals, which were now becom¬ 
ing very numerous. The Moniteur was already 
begun, and in it was published every speech 
made in the assembly, whether good or bad. 

As great accuracy in dates is requisite for what 
follows, I fear I shall be unable to establish them 
from simple recollection. I must refer to docu- 


166 


RECOLLECTIONS 


merits, and shall, therefore, be unable to finish 
this chapter, until my return to London. 

During Duroverai’s absence, Mirabeau called 
upon me one morning, and said, he had a most 
important communication to make. He began 
by representing in the blackest colours, the com¬ 
plete disorganization of the kingdom, expatiated 
on the impossibility of doing any good with the 
national assembly, as then constituted, and at 
length, drew from his portfolio a paper, in his 
own hand writing, of seven or eight pages. 
“Here,” said he, “is a plan by which France may 
yet be saved, and her freedom secured; for you 
know me too well, my friend, to suppose that I 
would co-operate, in any measure, of which li¬ 
berty were not the basis. Read it through, with¬ 
out interruption. I will then talk to you about 
the means of execution, and you will perceive 
that they are commensurate with the greatness of 
the measure. I cannot, however, tell you all, or 
name the parties concerned. It is a secret of 
honour—a solemn engagement.” 

I here have occasion to regret the imperfection 
of my memory, and the lapse of time which has 
effaced from my recollection, most of the details 
of this project. It was founded upon the depar- 


OF JVJIKABEAU. 


167 


ture of the King, who could no longer bear his 
captivity at Paris. He was to escape to Metz, or 
some other strongly fortified city, garrisoned with 
troops and officers of well known fidelity. On 
his arrival thither, he was to appeal, by proclama¬ 
tion, to the body of the people. He was to re¬ 
mind the country of his benefactions, and de¬ 
nounce the crimes of the metropolis. He was to 
cancel the decrees of the national assembly, as 
being contrary to law, and founded upon a mani¬ 
fest usurpation of power. He was next to dis¬ 
solve the assembly itself, and order an immediate 
convocation of the bailliages to elect fresh depu¬ 
ties. He was, at the same time, to order all the 
commandants to resume their authority, and the 
parliaments their functions, and to act in conjunc¬ 
tion against the rebels. He was to summon the 
nobles to rally round him, for the defence of the 
monarch and his throne. Mirabeau was to remain 
at Paris, and watch the motions of the assembly. 
So soon as the royal proclamation should appear, 
all the c6te-droit and the moderates of the c6te- 
gauche were, if my memory serves me correctly, 
to vote that they should immediately follow the 
King, and separate from those who were of a con¬ 
trary opinion. If Paris persevered in its disobe- 


168 


RECOLLECTIONS 


dience, all communication with it was to be 
stopped, and it was to be reduced by famine. It 
was certain, that the clergy, who had been des¬ 
poiled of their wealth by the national assembly, 
would employ all their religious influence over 
the people, in furtherance of this plan ; and the 
bishops were to meet, and protest, in the name of 
religion, against the sacrilegious usurpations of 
the legislative body.—There were four or five 
pages in the same strain. The project appeared 
arranged with much art, and all its parts seemed 
so skilfully combined, as to be likely to work well 
in conjunction. 

I cannot describe my emotion, or rather my 
alarm, on reading this paper. After a few mo¬ 
ments silence, I told Mirabeau that I saw, in this 
confidence, the strongest proof of his friendship 
for me; that I had no observations to make, such 
projects being beyond my skill; that I was not 
competent to decide upon the fate of the monar¬ 
chy, nor to give an opinion upon the differences 
between the King and the assembly; but that my 
resolution was taken, and I should quit Paris in 
two days. 

The tone of this conversation is strong in my 
memory. We spoke in a low voice, and very 


OF MIllABEAU. 


169 


slowly, like men weighing the importance of each 
word, and who, to contain their internal agitation, 
compress every motion of the body, as if they 
feared a sudden and involuntary explosion. 

“You are labouring under a misconception:” 
said Mirabeau, surprised at my determination; 
“you imagine this plan to be a signal of civil 
war. No such thing. You know not to what 
extent the nation are still attached to their King, 
and how exclusively monarchical we are. The 
instant the King is free, the assembly will be an¬ 
nihilated. With him the body is a colossus ; but 
without him, a heap of sand. There will be, 
doubtless, on the part of the Palais Royal, some 
attempts hostile to the measure. If Lafayette 
should play the Washington, and put himself at 
the head of the national guard, he would deserve 
death, and his fate would be soon sealed.”—“ As 
well as that of many others,” exclaimed I, “ for 
assassination will take the place of massacre. I 
am ignorant of your means of execution, but I 
am sure they are radically bad, because the King 
has not energy enough to follow them up. He 
will make this plan miscarry like every other.”— 
“ You do not know the Queen ;” he replied, “ she 
has prodigious strength of mind : she has the 


170 


RECOLLECTIONS 


courage of a man .”—“ But have you seen her ?” 
I inquired, “ Have you been consulted with? Are 
you quite sure that full confidence is placed in 
you? Recollect with whom you are acting, what 
kind of men you are supporting. If you were at 
Metz, or in any other strong hold, and the first 
part of the project successful, be assured that 
you would be the first they would get rid of; for 
you have already made them fear you, and that 
they will never forgive. But let us forego per¬ 
sonal considerations. Has not every thing yet 
attempted against the assembly proved favourable 
to it? Does it not command the power of public 
opinion ? Has it not paralyzed both the finances 
and the army ? The King may establish himself 
upon the frontiers, he may obtain assistance from 
the Emperor; but is it in his character to become 
the conqueror of his subjects ? And is it with Aus¬ 
trian soldiers that you would establish freedom ? 
Is it not madness to begin the regeneration of 
France, with the most deplorable of misfortunes ? 
.... ” I recollect that, animated by this conver¬ 
sation, I was no longer upon my guard, and I 
raised my voice. After uttering something with 
great warmth, and in a very loud tone, Mirabeau 
and I were both surprised at perceiving, that the 


OF MIRABEAU. 


171 


sound of a violin in the next room, from which we 
were separated only by a thin partition, had sud¬ 
denly ceased. We had before paid but little at¬ 
tention to it, but its cessation struck us both 
simultaneously. “We maybe overheard,” said 
Mirabeau, “ let us go into another room. I had 
anticipated,” he continued, as soon as we had 
changed our quarters, “ several of the objections 
you have urged. But I am certain that the court 
party are bent upon making the experiment, and 
I think my co-operation necessary to its success, 
and to direct it in favour of liberty, otherwise it 
will only lead to new errors, and to the total ruin 
of the country. If it does not succeed, the mo¬ 
narchy is lost.”—“ And how can any man of 
sense,” said I, “stake his life in such an infernal 
game ? You are irritated against the national as¬ 
sembly, on account of the decree which excluded 
you from the ministry, and you are unconsciously 
blinded by your resentment. If such a project 
had been formed by any one else, you would have 
considered it either the greatest of crimes, or the 
consummation of an act of the greatest madness. 
I agree with you, that the assembly is badly con¬ 
ducted ; but I am persuaded, that if seven or 
eight members only would unite, and act in con- 


172 


RECOLLECTIONS 


cert, every thing would go right. If you have in¬ 
terest at court, which I very much doubt, you had 
better use it in the furtherance of what I now 
urge. All these half projects, these counter-revo¬ 
lutionary phantasies only tend to increase the ge¬ 
neral apprehension, and add to the alarms of the 
jacobins and the comity de surveillance . It is in 
the assembly alone that you have influence and 
power ; out of it you possess neither ; and if the 
court party have really the confidence in you, 
which you seeiti to think, you can serve them 
much better as a deputy than as a minister.” 

This is all I can remember of a conversation which 
lasted two or three hours. My objections had their 
due weight, and by degrees, I obtained from him a 
confession that he had proposed this plan on being 
sounded as to whether his services might be de¬ 
pended upon, in the event of the King quitting 
Paris. I then pointed out to him, that which 
he had overlooked in the blindness of his anger 
against the assembly; namely, that the court 
party had only assumed a hypothetical project; 
that, not being in the confidence of the Tuileries, 
he had no certain data to proceed upon, and that 
there was a great difference between giving a 
plan, and belonging to the council who were to 


OF MIRABEAU. 


173 


decide upon its adoption. This last consideration 
was decisive. He felt that he was employed only 
in a subordinate capacity—for he was not even 
acquainted with the names of the principal par¬ 
ties to the project of the King’s escape—and that 
he could not answer for the King’s vigorous 
adoption of the plan with all its consequences. 
He therefore gave me his word of honour that he 
would withdraw from it, and urge Monsieur*, 
who had induced him to join in it, to forego his 
purpose and advise the court party to turn their 
views towards the national assembly. 

Two or three days after, Mirabeau informed me 
that the court party, as well as he, had aban¬ 
doned the plan; that the King was irresolute and 
only seemed determined upon attempting his 
evasion when wincing under some recent insult 
of the national assembly, but thought no more of 
it the moment they let him alone. There was a 
new scheme to form a confederation among the 
moderates, and Mirabeau’s services were consi¬ 
dered indispensable to its success. Dining, a few 
days after, at the Bishop of Chartres’, Brissot, 
who was there, said to me with an air of triumph. 


Afterwards Louis XVIII. 


174 


RECOLLECTIONS 


<f Well, you are always laughing at our comitd de 
surveillance and at our detection of conspiracies ; 
but this time you will not laugh. We have the 
clue to a plot, a list of the highest names in the 
kingdom, as conspirators, and strong evidence to 
back the charge. I cannot tell you more at pre¬ 
sent, but to-morrow, when the denunciation is 
made, you will know all.” On the following day, 
the comite de surveillance denounced the Marquis 
de Favras, who was in the service of Monsieur , 
and produced evidence of a plan to carry off 
the King, and convey him to some frontier 
town. I know that Monsieur was much alarm¬ 
ed, and thought it necessary to appear at the 
commune of Paris and disavow all connexion 
with the Marquis de Favras. He also wrote to 
the national assembly a letter of which Mirabeau 
claimed the authorship. The storm passed over. 
Favras, a ruined man and a gambler, was one of 
those adventurers whom great men always sacri¬ 
fice when themselves are exposed to danger. 
During the proceedings against him, Favras 
behaved with as much sang-froid as the public 
evinced excitement. If an agent of Monsieur , he 
was faithful to the last, and he mounted the 
scaffold with a degree of courage that would 


OF MIRABEAU. 


175 


have done honour to a better man. The secret 
of this intrigue was never known; but I have no 
doubt Favras was one of those men who, when 
employed as instruments, are led by vanity much 
further than their principals intend. Instead of 
confining themselves to their particular sphere, 
they are spurred on by the fatal ambition of 
embracing objects beyond their reach, and are at 
last betrayed by their own activity. The fate of 
Favras convinced the court that their best policy 
was to form a party in the national assembly. As 
for Mirabeau,he bestowed a thousand curses upon 
the shuffling courtiers, those mountebank con¬ 
spirators who confided the restoration of the mo¬ 
narchy to the exertions of a ruined gamester; 
but the praises he bestowed upon the intrepidity 
of Favras in his last interrogatory, made me 
shrewdly suspect that the death of the latter was not 
less consolatory to his friends than to his enemies. 

I must not forget the part taken by Mirabeau 
in the debate upon church property. Turgot, in 
his article. Foundation , of the Encyclopaedia, had 
shown that the legislation had an undoubted 
right to destroy private corporations whenever 
they became injurious to the public welfare. He 
had also shown the absurdity of believing that a 


176 


RECOLLECTIONS 


foundation, that is to say, the private will of an 
individual could have a force of law. It followed 
from the principles he had laid down, that the 
clergy being only a body of public functionaries, 
their property was nothing more than a salary for 
the services they performed. So long as the 
clergy were considered necessary to the state, so 
long ought they to be paid; but the state had an 
undoubted right to pay them either out of the 
public revenue, like the army, or by means espe¬ 
cially appropriated thereto, such as lands or tithes. 
Now the question was only to determine in which 
way they should be paid; whether by allowing 
them a territorial domain or by fixed salaries, like 
other public officers. The Bishop of Autun was 
the first to propose a sale of the church property 
for the extinction of the national debt, and to sub¬ 
stitute a fixed salary in its stead. Mirabeau had 
embraced the same opinion, which was also that of 
the cote gauche and the popular party. There were 
two reasons for this measure :—the immense pro¬ 
perty of the clergy, of which immediate possession 
could be taken, and a consequent reduction of 
power, so as to bring that body to a level with its 
future place in a democratic constitution. A 
powerful clergy is a formidable instrument in the 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


177 


hands of a King. The cause of the ecclesiastical 
body was strenuously defended by the Abbe 
Maury, the Archbishop of Aix, and several 
others. 

I had nothing to do with this discussion, nor 
did I write any speech for Mirabeau. I had my 
own opinions upon this question. I did not 
approve of immolating victims on the altar of 
public benefit; and I thought it unjust to dis¬ 
charge the national debt by the spoliation of the 
clergy. The abolition of convents, proceeded in 
with discretion, was a measure of humanity and 
wisdom, and the reduction in the future salaries 
of the clergy seemed compatible with prudence 
and justice; but it did not appear to me neces¬ 
sary to diminish the enjoyment of the actual pos¬ 
sessors. I had many discussions on this subject 
with the incumbents themselves; with the Abb6 
Morellet, for instance, who would willingly have 
consented to a sacrifice of part ofhis income, and 
approved of a proportionate reduction in the reve¬ 
nue of the prelates and great commendatories. I 
had imbibed my notions on the subject in England, 
where it is a principle in reforms never to effect 
them upon living persons. In France this prin¬ 
ciple was unknown. It had never been acknow- 


N 


178 


RECOLLECTIONS 


ledged by the old government. The expulsion 
of the jesuits was a violation of it; M. Necker 
himself had never observed it, for he had never 
ceased to reduce, retrench, and economise without 
caring about the individuals he plundered, 
whom he considered liberally treated when 
they had sufficient left to keep them from actual 
starvation. The inflexible Camus, with his jan- 
senist harshness, governed the poor state pensioners 
despotically; and because, when he despoiled 
them of their pensions, he did not appropriate the 
money to his own use, he passed for a virtuous 
defender of the public property. He multiplied 
decrees whereby he rendered thousands miserable, 
without making a single individual happy; for the 
pensioners, who were the sufferers, endured a 
loss affecting their very means of subsistence, 
whilst the public, who gained by it, made but an 
imperceptible profit, spread as it was over the 
mass of the nation. How mistaken are those 
pretended reformers who can only better the 
condition of the one by sacrificing the other. 

At this juncture, the clergy might really be 
thought not to form part of the French nation. 
The national assembly, however, did not carry 
their prejudice to exclusion, but purposed making 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


179 


a settlement upon the ecclesiastical body, which 
certainly would have proved sufficient, if there 
had been no subsequent falling off. The clergy 
themselves would have suffered without a murmur, 
had the promised settlement been regularly paid; 
but the spoliation was real, for the payment of 
the indemnity was soon discontinued. 

The person who wrote Mirabeau’s speech on 
this question, was one P61in, a native of Mar¬ 
seilles, by profession a lawyer. In his youth he 
had been implicated in some dirty transactions, 
had undergone a condemnation, and either suffered 
punishment or saved himself from it by a pru¬ 
dential voyage to the West Indies. He had been 
of use to Mirabeau during the tumultuous elec¬ 
tion at Marseilles, and he came to Paris witli 
his wife, a very young and very pretty woman, 
doubtless aware that she was in no danger from 
the austere morality of the tribune of the people. 
In appearance, P61in was mild and timid ; he did 
not talk too much, was reserved and discreet, 
not brilliant but possessed of great abilities. He 
almost disappeared in the presence of Mirabeau 
who treated him as a very humble subordinate, 
and often assumed a tone towards him which 
surprized me; for P£lin was very useful to him, 

1ST 2 


180 


RECOLLECTIONS 


and had written for him a report upon Marseilles, 
another upon the municipalities, and other 
works which I have forgotten. P£lin was paid 
for all this, it is true, but complained of not 
being adequately remunerated. What made 
Mirabeau assume this air of disdain and hau¬ 
teur, was his profound contempt for the man, 
although he could appreciate his talents and 
determine to make use of them. One of the 
speeches upon church property written by 
P£lin, reminds me of a scene which I wit¬ 
nessed by chance. The Abb6 Maury had re¬ 
futed this speech very successfully. Mirabeau, 
unable to follow the abbe through his arguments, 
obtained leave to speak for the next day. On 
his return home, P£lin was not there. He dis¬ 
patched two or three successive messengers in 
search of him, but no Pelin arrived. Towards 
evening Mirabeau became uneasy, and sent 
again. At length P61in came. As 1 per¬ 
ceived that Mirabeau was in a state of great 
excitement and made use of expressions which 
the presence of a third person rendered very hu¬ 
miliating, I withdrew into a closet with a glass 
door which I closed; but I could not help over¬ 
hearing every word of the reproaches which, 


OF Mitt A BEAU. 


181 


like a storm, now burst upon Pelin’s head. 
“ Were you at the assembly?”—“ No !”— 
“ What! you were not there? Is this the way 
you behave to me ? See what an awkward si¬ 
tuation you place me in. Maury spoke for an 
hour.... and what reply can you make to a 
speech you have not heard? You would prefer 
writing one against me; I know you well; but 
I tell you, that by to-morrow morning, I must 
have a complete refutation of Maury’s speech. 
You will find some extracts from it in the 
evening papers.” P61in made some difficulty, 
and proposed that an adjournment of the ques¬ 
tion should be moved; but Mirabeau seized 
him by the throat, pinned him against the wall, 
enjoined him to do what he ordered without 
delay, and to look well to his conduct. P61in, 
with his mind thus prepared for labour and 
eloquence, withdrew at about seven o’clock in 
the evening; and what appeared to me almost 
miraculous was, that at seven the next morning, 
I received from Mirabeau a voluminous manu¬ 
script with a note begging me to cast my eye 
over Palin’s lucubration of the preceding night; 
to give a little touch, if necessary, to the be¬ 
ginning and end, and send it to him at the as- 


182 


RECOLLECTIONS 


sembly at twelve. As I read this production, 
I was astonished at the flow of ideas, the force 
of reasoning, the logical arrangement of all its 
parts, and the subtlety of the arguments in re¬ 
futation of those points in which Maury had the 
advantage. It was a work of mere dry rea¬ 
soning, for Pelin had neither imagination nor 
eloquence; and its style was that of an ordinary 
advocate who discusses but embellishes nothing. 
Mirabeau, less struck by this kind of merit, 
than by that with which P61in was not endued, 
did not do him justice. I returned the manu¬ 
script with an assurance that it might be used 
without fear. I had merely struck out a few 
superfluities, and was in admiration of the fa¬ 
cility and sound logic which pervaded the whole. 
After all this trouble, the question was adjourned, 
and the speech only appeared in the Courrier de 
Provc7ice. 

Mirabeau afterwards assured me, that Pelin 
was so venal that he had more than once written 
for both parties upon the same question, and 
this amused him whilst he made it a source of 
considerable profit. But Mirabeau must still 
have had some confidence in the man, when 
he continued to employ him. Pelin whose ta- 


OF MIRABFAU. 


183 


lents ought to have raised him to great influence 
among the jacobins, had been employed in the 
Low Countries by the d’Aremberg family and 
thus found himself implicated by degrees with 
the aristocratic party. If this individual had 
displayed more honesty or more energy, he 
would have attained to distinguished rank in a 
revolution which opened so wide a field to talent 
of every description. 


184 


recollections 


CHAPTER XII. 

Mirabeau had quitted his furnished lodgings 
and taken a house in the Chauss^e-d’Antin, 
which he fitted up like the boudoir of a petite 
maitresse . In his former straitened circumstan¬ 
ces, he had never been able to indulge in his 
taste for luxury; but he was fond of pleasure 
and shew, elegant furniture, a good table and 
much company. There would have been nothing 
to blame in the style in which he now lived, had 
it not exceeded his means. His father had left 
him, besides the title of marquis, which he would 
not assume because he thought he had given 
more celebrity to his title of count, very con¬ 
siderable estates, but eat up with incumbran 
ces and in the hands of creditors. He confided 


OF MIRABEAU. 


185 


to me that an offer had been made to extricate 
him from these embarrassments and put him 
in possession of his family estates. The source 
whence such an offer came, would have raised 
suspicion in a proudly independent mind. It 
was again Monsieur , who undertook to advance 
him twenty thousand francs a month until these in¬ 
cumbrances were wiped off, and thus become 
his only creditor. Such, at least, was the pretence 
given to a pension paid him by the court. It 
was the Duke de Levis, attached from his in¬ 
fancy to the household of Monsieur , who had 
brought about this arrangement. When in re¬ 
ceipt of the pension, Mirabeau no longer thought 
of paying his debts, except indeed the most 
pressing, and this had probably been antici¬ 
pated. But as, in appearance at least, the 
court had abandoned the project of a counter¬ 
revolution by means of the King’s evasion, and 
were making great exertions to form a party in 
the assembly, it was necessary to supply Mira¬ 
beau with an establishment and the means of 
action. An open house was an essential requi¬ 
site for bringing together the men he wanted. 
But, on the other hand, his new and expensive 
mode of living, must naturally have raised suspi- 


186 


RECOLLECTIONS 


cions as to the source of his increased income, 
and a tribune of the people becoming a Lucul- 
lus, could not fail to render him an object of 
distrust. The pension of twenty thousand francs 
was not long paid. Mirabeau was found in¬ 
docile ; he did not consult the court party—paid 
no attention to the precautions which the latter 
thought they had a right to impose upon him— 
and treated with the greatest contempt men, 
who, as he stated, wished to destroy his popu¬ 
larity, which was the very instrument of his 
success, and which alone could render his ser¬ 
vices available. 

He received another pension from the court, 
at this time, through the Prince Louis d’Arem- 
berg, who was devoted to the Queen and per¬ 
ceived much better than the other courtiers, the 
fault of neglecting to acquire influence in the 
assembly. Mirabeau introduced me to the 
prince as he also did Duroverai and Clavi&re. 
The conversations at which I was present related 
to the necessity of opposing, by prudent and 
measured publications, the unrestrained licen¬ 
tiousness of the public press, of obviating the 
excesses which could not but prove fatal to 
freedom, of convincing the nation that the King 


OF MIRABEAU. 


187 


had entered with sincerity into the spirit of the 
revolution, and of eradicating that eternal mis¬ 
trust which enervated all the measures of govern¬ 
ment. Certain it is that, at this period, it was 
a duty incumbent upon every honest man in the 
kingdom to embrace the King’s cause, because 
the latter felt himself bound, not only from 
honor and weakness of character, but from a 
dread of civil war, to proceed in concert with 
the national assembly; and because nothing 
but violent measures and direct attacks, upon 
the last remnants of royalty, could detach the 
King from the assembly. Mirabeau, who knew 
how to set off his friends to advantage as well 
as to shine by their means, and who displayed 
a sort of generous pride in placing them in the 
most favorable light, had answered for our serv¬ 
ing the King with zeal in all his exertions against 
anarchy. Claviere anticipated making his way 
to the ministry, through this connexion. 

But it must not be imagined that our little 
society was always free from disputes. I never 
quarrelled with any of its members, because I 
had no personal object and was independent. I 
had been of service to every one of them and was 
under no obligation to either in return. I was 


188 


RECOLLECTIONS 


often under the necessity of appeasing or recon¬ 
ciling them ; but on one occasion I thought a 
rupture inevitable. We dined with the Prince 
Louis d’Aremberg. Just as the dessert was put 
upon the table, the Queen sent for the Prince, 
who, as he should not be long absent, made us 
promise not to go till he returned. There had 
been a little altercation in the course of the 
morning, but it had blown over, although enough 
of excitement remained to require little to fan it 
into a flame. Mirabeau was playing with one 
of his rings, which Clavikre looked at, and said 
in a sarcastic tone: “ Is it a sphinx?—“No,” 
replied Mirabeau, “ it is a beautiful head of 
Cicero, and here is one of Minerva, which is much 
admire 1.”—“ Very good !” observed Clavikre 
ironically, “Cicero on one side, Minerva on the 
other, and Demosthenes between the two.”— 
“ As for you,” retorted Mirabeau, who could 
never bear a joke, “ if ever you get yourself 
painted as a Minerva, do not forget the owl.” 
—“ I am not gay, I confess, my dear Count, 
and your means of making me so, are rather too 
much for me.”—“ Oh! if my means won’t suit 
you, you have your own. Have you not de 
Bourges’ libels on me ? Have you not Brissot’s 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


189 


little productions? And have you not Madame 
le Jay’s shop, where you state to all who will 
listen to you, that my reputation is a usurped 
one, that I am indebted for it to the labors of 
my friends, and that if I were reduced to my 
own resources, I should be little or nothing?” 
—After this reply, the storm burst. The most 
violent reproaches rapidly succeeded each other; 
each accused the other of libelling him, of 
leaguing with his enemies, and of reports inju¬ 
rious to his character. Their anger at length 
became so impetuous that they could no longer 
moderate their voices; and a servant, excited 
no doubt by curiosity at hearing this noise, 
opened the door and inquired if they had called. 
In an instant Mirabeau resumed his sang-froid , 
and with the greatest politeness thanked the 
man, telling him that if any thing was wanted 
they would ring. Duroverai now joined Cla- 
vi&re, bitterly reproached Mirabeau with many 
points of his conduct, and declared that what 
with his whims and temper, it was almost im¬ 
possible to carry on any plan in conjunction 
with him. All soon became confusion—a med¬ 
ley of bitter sarcasms and mutual accusation. 
Mirabeau and Clavi£re, in great agitation, had 


190 


RECOLLECTIONS 


often occasion to wipe their eyes, which were 
certainly not filled with tears of compassion. As 
I had hitherto remained neuter, and said nothing 
except now and then a few conciliatory words 
which proved of no avail, Duroverai made a 
direct appeal to me, calling upon me to declare 
whether I had not often blamed such and such 
parts of Mirabeau’s conduct, and whether I 
were not of their opinion on every point in dis¬ 
pute. Mirabeau, desirous perhaps of keeping 
open a road to reconciliation, said that if I had 
blamed him, it was openly and in a friendly con¬ 
versation, but that I had never leagued with 
his enemies as they had done, nor endeavored to 
undermine his character behind his back, by 
representing him as a plagiary. When I thought 
my turn was come to speak, I simply ob¬ 
served that such disputes must terminate, and 
could not twice occur between men of honor. 
That if they chose to come to a rupture, I should 
be much grieved at it, but my resolution was 
taken, and Mirabeau could not blame me for 
not separating, in such an event, from my oldest 
friends and fellow-countrymen. But they would 
all three repent of such a rupture, founded, as it 
would be, merely upon those little inequalities of 


OF MIRABEAU. 


191 


temper which they ought mutually to pardon in 
each other, or upon the exaggerated and ma¬ 
licious reports of evil-disposed persons. “ No 
further discussion is necessarysaid I, “ this 
must be brought to an issue. You are met here 
for a common object, and what fresh discovery 
have you made since dinner, that obliges you to 
separate? Your being friends at three o’clock 
was ridiculous, if you are not to be so now.” 
—By degrees the conversation resumed a mild¬ 
er tone, and we went home in the same car¬ 
riage, without any thing but public measures 
being talked of on the way. 

A singular circumstance, which struck me 
very forcibly, had called this quarrel to my re¬ 
collection. Mirabeau and Clavikre, although 
beside themselves with rage, maintained with 
regard to each other’s characters, a discretion 
which surprized me. I trembled every moment 
lest Clavikre should utter some taunts regarding 
Mirabeau’s private conduct, and tax him with 
meanness in pecuniary matters. But although 
he had frequently mentioned such things to me, 
he was too much master of himself to utter them 
now ; whilst Mirabeau, on the other hand, foam¬ 
ing with pride and anger, had still the address 


392 


RECOLLECTIONS 


to mingle with his invectives, testimonies of es¬ 
teem, and compliments upon Clavikre’s talents. 
Thus they scratched and caressed each other 
with the same hand. This rendered a reconci¬ 
liation easier, and it convinced me that there is 
no candour even in the anger of a man of the 
world. 

I can recollect only one more legislative ques¬ 
tion of importance in which I had any share. 
In reading the Contrat Social and the Observations 
on Poland, I had remarked that Rousseau at¬ 
tached great importance to a system of gradual 
elections ; that is to say, assimilating civil func¬ 
tionaries to military officers, by making them 
pass through different gradations of office. This 
has been done in most republics, without being 
the object of an express law, with the exception 
perhaps of Rome and Geneva, if such contrast¬ 
ing names may be mentioned together. It 
seemed to me that such a system would be ad¬ 
visable in France, where a citizen should either 
pass through a municipality to a department, 
and through the latter to the national assembly, 
or have previously exercised public functions 
of some kind, such, for instance, as those of 
judge or advocate. Two years of subaltern func- 


OF MIRABEAU. 


193 


tions would not make a deputy grow old during 
his political apprenticeship, and would give 
him great facility in conducting the important 
business of the legislature. The question was 
soon debated among us, and Mirabeau warmly 
approved of the plan. I wrote a speech on the 
occasion, with which I took the greatest pains, 
and when it was first proposed, I had the 
pleasure of seeing the cote droit join the cotd 
gauche in support of it. But something in it, 
I know not what, displeased the Lameths; and 
Barnave and Duport moved an adjournment. 
They perceived, they said, all kinds of aristo¬ 
cratic snares in this proposal, although supported 
on the high authority of Rousseau; and this 
party had taken such sure steps to obtain a do¬ 
cile majority in the assembly, that the warmest 
admirers of the project cooled upon it, and the 
adjournment was carried. This is another oc¬ 
casion on which I had to regret Mirabeau’s pos¬ 
sessing so little the talent of parliamentary de¬ 
bate, and studying a subject so superficially as 
he was accustomed to do. He could not reply 
to Barnave, because he knew nothing of the 
question beyond the speech I had written for 
him ; indeed, he had paid so little attention to it, 


o 


194 


RECOLLECTIONS 


that he was unable even to reproduce, in the form 
of a reply, the arguments of that very speech. 
The motion was lost; but it had interested the 
reflecting portion of the assembly. Mallouet 
had spoken in its favor and Roederer enumerated 
the persons eligible in France, counting by the 
municipalities and the departments. I had the 
satisfaction to reply to Barnave in the Courrier 
de Provence , and I never wrote with greater 
pleasure. I completely refuted his arguments, 
and all the thinking members of the assembly, 
convinced of the utility of the measure, begged 
Mirabeau to bring it forward on some other oc¬ 
casion. But as the prudential considerations 
connected with the candidates at the next elec¬ 
tions, would prevent its being carried into exe¬ 
cution for some years at least, it was not urgent to 
press it at that time. Had it even been inserted in 
the constitution, it would, for the first few years, 
have been of no use. Two or three of my friends 
in England who, after reading Mirabeau’s first 
speech on this gradual system, had blamed it as 
imposing an unnecessary restraint upon elections, 
changed their opinion on reading my reply, in 
the Courrier de Provence , to Barnave’s objec¬ 
tions. The motion had only one defect, and 


OF MIR ABE AU. 


195 


that was a vital one ; it was the clause which 
delayed for ten years the execution of the mea¬ 
sure. This had been done with a view of gaining 
a sufficient number of candidates who had passed 
through the lower gradations; instead of which, 
the persons eligible should have been imme¬ 
diately limited, in order that at the ensuing elec¬ 
tions, either the old deputies should be re-elected 
or, in their stead, persons already in the muni¬ 
cipalities and departments. Had this precaution 
been taken, the second assembly would have 
been composed of select men interested in main¬ 
taining the constitution. 


196 


RECOLLECTIONS 


CHAPTER XIII. 

I quitted Paris in the beginning of March* 
Several reasons induced me to do so. The 
quarrels between Duroverai and Mirabeau had 
become so frequent, from Madame le Jay’s dis¬ 
honest practices with regard to the Courrier de 
Provence , the whole profits of which she appro¬ 
priated to herself, that I was glad to withdraw 
from the paper altogether. My sanguine hopes 
of regeneration and public good had considera¬ 
bly abated. Not that I conceived the national 
assembly would not succeed in framing a con¬ 
stitution ; but I had observed its proceedings so 
closely, that the charm had disappeared, my 
curiosity was satisfied, and all illusion had 


OF MlftABEAU. 


197 


vanished. Duroverai left me more than my 
share of the work, and I was sick to death 
of it, particularly when it originated quar¬ 
rels and pecuniary discussions. Besides, my 
feelings towards Mirabeau, whom I had al¬ 
ways personally liked on account of his great 
abilities and his affectionate manners towards 
me, were much altered since I had become 
too well acquainted with him. His intentions 
were good, but his passions constantly carried 
him too far. He was attached to the King and 
desirous of serving the monarchy, threatened, 
as it was, on all sides, and the jacobins exerting 
themselves for its overthrow. But the motives 
of his services were not pure ; and his expensive 
style of living, supported by means not over de¬ 
licate, alienated me from him by degrees. What 
immediately determined me to leave Paris was, 
that in several political writings of the day, my 
name was associated with his. The first was a 
pamphlet by Pelletier entitled : Domine salvum fac 
regem , in which, after despoiling Mirabeau of his 
works, the addresses were attributed to Durove¬ 
rai and the Courrier de Provence to me. In a 
short time we were named in a multitude of li¬ 
bels. I felt considerable pleasure in being known 
to a small circle of friends, but was disgusted 


198 


RECOLLECTIONS 


at being mentioned publicly. The character 
of a subaltern writer was by no means flattering 
to my pride ; and the idea of an influential inti¬ 
macy with a man whose celebrity was not imma¬ 
culate, revolted my delicacy. Instead of having 
credit for the good I had done, and the evil I had 
been instrumental in preventing, the very ex¬ 
cesses which I had been the first to condemn, 
would naturally be attributed to me. I perceived 
that many respectable individuals showed me 
marked coldness, from the contempt with which 
Mirabeau inspired them. I had long preserved 
all my first acquaintances at Paris, and I was 
much hurt at perceiving that party spirit had 
alienated many of them. My friends in London 
wrote to entreat I would return, because a con¬ 
nexion with Mirabeau was a stamp of reproba¬ 
tion springing from the prejudices against the re¬ 
volutionary party, then becoming prevalent in Eng¬ 
land. I did return, and the unfavorable suspicions 
which had begun to spread among my acquaint¬ 
ances, immediately ceased. 

During my residence at Paris, I had become 
more or less intimate with several individuals of 
whom I shall say a word. What I here state > 
however, is a mere memorandum to enable me 
at a future period to remember some anecdotes. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


199 


For they sometimes occur to my recollection 
unexpectedly, just as you often by chance 
find a thing you had lost, when looking for some¬ 
thing else. 

I used to meet Barr&re de Vieuzac at a table - 
d'hote, where several deputies were in the habit 
of dining. I considered him of a mild and amia¬ 
ble temper. He was very well-bred and seemed 
to love the revolution from a sentiment of bene¬ 
volence. I am persuaded that his association with 
Robespierre and the court which he paid to the 
different parties he successively joined and after¬ 
wards deserted, were less the effect of an evil 
disposition, than of a timid and versatile charac¬ 
ter, and a conceit which made him think it in¬ 
cumbent upon him to appear as a public man. 
His talents as an orator were by no means of the 
first order; there were fifty speakers in the as¬ 
sembly superior to him. He was afterwards 
surnamed the Anacreon of the guillotine; but 
when I knew him he was only the Anacreon of 
the revolution, upon which, in his ‘ Point du 
jour he wrote some very amorous strains. 

Barnave had a lodging in the house at Ver¬ 
sailles of which we occupied a part, after we left 
the hotel Charost. I never could have become 


2G0 


RECOLLECTIONS 


intimate with him, even had he not belonged to 
the Lameth faction and been consequently Mira- 
beau’s enemy. He displayed the most irritable 
self-love, an appearance of jealousy and ill- 
temper, and the most disgusting presumption. 
His talents in debate were powerful; that is to 
say, after he had exercised them ; for in the 
beginning of his parliamentary career, he was 
dreadfully prolix and heavy. He was one of 
those men who owe their talents to their own 
exertions, and the developement of his was very 
rapid.* His jealousy of his co-deputy Mounier, 
had, as much as his revolutionary principles, 
estranged him from the latter. 

I frequently saw Potion, without indeed guess¬ 
sing what he would one day become. He had 
the embonpoint of an indolent, and the manners 
of a good kind of man. But he was very vain, 
and considered himself a first rate orator because, 
like Barnave, he spoke extempore. He possessed 
nothing above mediocrity either in wit or intel¬ 
lect,—no strength or force of expression. 

I had known Target the year before, but 

* Mirabeau once said of Barnave, at a time, when he was 
satisfied with him: “ He is a tree growing to become some day 
the mast of a line-of-battle ship .”—Note by Dumont. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


201 


since his election to a seat in the great assembly, 
he had become a man of such consequence, that 
I was too insignificant a personage to be noticed 
by him ; and after once or twice encountering his 
airs of importance, I was not again tempted to 
obtrude myself upon his notice. It was said of 
him that he was drowned in his talents . He was 
always suffocated by hard words. In Mira- 
beau’s journal, I revenged myself of his airs by 
some pleasantries, but it would have required 
much stronger powers than mine to puncture his 
dropsical eloquence. 

Duroverai and I, when at Versailles, often dined 
with Mallouet whom we continued to visit at Paris. 
He has left upon me the impression of being an 
amiable man of mild manners and moderate in his 
political sentiments. He was continually making 
blunders in the assembly, to whose forms he 
could not accustom himself; every thing he 
did was in the wrong place. He constantly 
blurted out the most offensive words, and got 
himself into scrapes, for the veriest trifles ; but 
he had intellect, firmness of mind, good inten¬ 
tions and experience. His work in favor of the 
slave trade, was not one of his best titles to 
fame. 

Volney, a tall, lathy, splenetic man, was in a 


202 


RECOLLECTIONS 


course of reciprocal flattery with Mirabeau. 
He had exaggeration and much dryness, but he 
was not one of the working members of the 
assembly. It was deemed necessary one day 
to order the galleries to be silent. “ What!” 
exclaimed Volney, “ are we to impose silence 
upon our masters ?” 

I had twice occasion to converse with Ro¬ 
bespierre. He had a sinister expression of coun¬ 
tenance, never looked you in the face, and had 
a continual and unpleasant winking of the eyes. 
Having once asked me for some information re¬ 
lative to Geneva, I urged him to speak upon 
the subject in the assembly; but he told me 
that he was a prey to the most childish timi¬ 
dity, that he never approached the tribune with¬ 
out trembling, and that when he began to speak, 
his faculties were entirely absorbed by fear. 

I sometimes met the Abbe Morellet, who had 
already become very violent against the national 
assembly. He would have pardoned its demo¬ 
cracy, had it only respected—not the church, 
which he did not much respect himself—but 
church property, of which he had but lately re¬ 
ceived his share and thought it hard to lose 
it so soon. As he had been one of the promoters 


OF MIRABEAU. 


203 


of the then all-absorbing spirit of liberty, Lord 
Lansdowne wrote to him that he ought to con¬ 
sider himself as a wounded soldier in a victorious 
army . The victory, if it were one, did not, how¬ 
ever, console him for his wound. I met Mar- 
montel at his house. The topics of conversa¬ 
tion were what the philosophers of the age had 
done for the eradication of prejudices, and the 
errors into which they had led the people, by 
their exaggerations. The general anticipations 
were far from realized by the aspect which 
public affairs then presented, and Marmontel, 
who was one of the discontented, said, “ The na¬ 
tional assembly often reminds me of a saying 
of Mme. de Sevigne: ‘ I should like Provence if 
there were no Provengaux .’ ”* 

I occasionally saw M. Necker, but only as mi¬ 
nister and to confer about our affairs of Geneva. I 
even carried on a correspondence with him, and 
have some anecdotes on this circumstance, which 
I shall reserve for a separate chapter. 

Champfort often visited Mirabeau, to whom 
he sometimes rendered literary services, and 
also communicated his violence and harshness. 
We always remarked that after a visit from 

* Natives of Provence, a people peculiarly harsh and ill-man¬ 
nered .—English Editor. 


204 


RECOLLECTIONS 


Champfort, Mirabeau’s sentiments had become 
more bitter and more exaggerated. Nothing 
being now left in the state for Champfort to 
overthrow, he prepared for Mirabeau a speech 
against academies in general, and against the 
French academy in particular. The latter, from 
the object of his ambition, had become the 
subject of his epigrams. 

About the end of 1790, I spent six months 
at Geneva. I went thither to meet my mother 
and sisters who had returned to visit their native 
country. On my way to Geneva, I remained 
about three weeks at Paris with Achille Du- 
chatelet, my fellow traveller from London, where 
1 had become acquainted with him. Achille Du- 
chatelet had served in America and was imbued 
with republican principles. On the breaking 
out of the French revolution, he had embraced 
the popular party and this bias was much 
strengthened by his intimacy with Condorcet. 
His ambition was solely confined to military 
glory. He was brave, open, honest and ge¬ 
nerous ; had information, taste and facility; was 
one of the most amiable men I knew; but dis¬ 
played the unheeding impetuosity of a young 
Frenchman educated in the style of those whose 


OF MIRABEAU. 


205 


noble birth superseded the necessity of know¬ 
ledge. If the mind of such a man as Duchate- 
let had been formed in England, it would have 
possessed much more depth and greater strength ; 
for in his justification it may be observed, that 
his faults were only those of the school in which 
he had been brought up. He had been much 
struck with the discovery he had made, that 
England was a much more moral nation than 
his own. The examination of a religion less 
superstitious than the one he professed, over¬ 
came his prejudice against all religions. We 
had several interesting conversations on this sub¬ 
ject, and my principles, much more serious than 
his, had tended rather to cement than to destroy 
our growing friendship. He was a great admirer of 
Mirabeau who was often the theme of our conver¬ 
sation, as he was, at that period, of the conversation 
of all France, and all Europe. For he was the ruler 
of that assembly who ruled all. At the assembly, 
the eyes of every one were directed in search 
of him in the midst of his colleagues; each was 
happy at having heard him speak, and his most 
familiar expressions were preserved as apo¬ 
thegms We found, even in the postillions, 
a singular mode of testifying their admiration 


206 


RECOLLECTIONS 


of him. “ Your horses are very bad,” said we 
to a post boy between Calais and Amiens— 
“ Yes,” he replied, “ my two side horses are 
bad, but my Mirabeau is excellent.” The mid¬ 
dle horse, in the shafts, being the strongest and 
doing the most work, was called the Mirabeau; 
and provided the latter was good, little atten¬ 
tion was paid to the others. Duchatelet was 
aware that I had the credit, at Paris, of being 
the author of some of Mirabeau’s speeches, and he 
sounded me on the subject, but with discretion. 
I said nothing in reply to justify his surmises. 
“ Mirabeau must indeed,” said he, endeavour¬ 
ing to penetrate my thoughts, “ be the author 
of his written speeches, because they are pre¬ 
cisely in the same style as his extempore ones. 
They contain the same principles and the same 
expressions. If he had the materials prepared 
for him, I have no doubt that he put them to¬ 
gether himself. But you, who have seen so much 
of him, must be able to give a positive opinion 
on this point.”—“ I think,” said I, “ that some 
people take a delight in undermining the fame 
of a man of celebrity. Nothing is more easy 
than to cast imputations of this kind, and nothing 
more difficult than to refute them. But what 


OF MIRABEAU. 


207 


matters it whether he lay his friends under con¬ 
tribution or not, provided he make them pro¬ 
duce that which, without him, they could not 
have done ? For in such a case, he is the real 
author. This species of merit does not belong 
to every body. And we may ask, how happens 
it that he is the only one who knows how to 
use coadjutors, and that no other person has 
the same resource ?” It was thus I eluded his 
questions without deceiving him. But Mira- 
beau himself, by his usual indiscretion, soon be¬ 
trayed the secret. The instant I arrived, I 
again became his confidant. Not only had he 
maintained his influence in the assembly, but 
had become more powerful than ever. He had 
formed no precise party, but exercised a suc¬ 
cessive influence over both parties, and was 
treated with as a great power. The jacobins, 
who, at this period, formed a state within 
a state, and who sometimes successfully com¬ 
peted with the national assembly itself, were 
alternately governed by the Lameths, Robes¬ 
pierre and Petion; but whenever Mirabeau con¬ 
descended to appear in their tribune, he always 
warped them to his will. He seldom, however, went 
among them ; for his contempt of this dangerous 


208 


RECOLLECTIONS 


faction was only equalled by his jealousy of 
their growing influence. 

He informed me that he was on good terms 
with the court; that he had seen the Queen, 
whose councils he directed, and that he enter¬ 
tained well-founded hopes from that quarter. 
It had been found necessary to obtain his services, 
instead of listening to the imprudent advice of 
the emigrants, and the princes of the blood. 

He had then a report to make, in the name of 
the diplomatic committee, on the feelings of the 
other European powers towards France. This 
report deeply interested the court; for in other 
hands, it might have become the torch of war, or 
at least excited general mistrust. Mirabeau’s 
intention was to make it a means of conciliation— 
to overcome by it the prejudices which the jacobins 
continued to raise against the houses of Spain 
and Austria, and to conclude it by charging the 
executive power with the precautions necessary 
for the safety of the kingdom. He requested me 
to write the part of his speech relating to England; 
—to forget nothing that might consolidate the 
friendship of the two countries, and to strike hard 
at Burke’s book against the French revolution. 
He was desirous of giving a democratic coloring 


OF MIRABEAU. 


209 


to this speech, in order to insure the success of 
his proposal in favor of the executive power. 
I undertook this task the more willingly, because 
nothing was more in unison with my opinions than 
to combat, on such a momentous question, the 
prejudices existing against England, and preserve 
peace between the two nations. I had found so 
much exaggeration in Burke’s work, that I felt no 
scruple in representing it as a piece of mere 
declamation, by no means expressing the sen¬ 
timents of the English nation. I wrote three or 
four pages of argument on this subject. On the 
following day, Mirabeau came to Duchatelet’s to 
fetch me, and being unable to contain his im¬ 
patience, read the whole of his speech, with the 
exception of the portion upon England which I 
had not yet given him. 

Duchatelet and I went to the assembly. The 
speech was well received, particularly the part 
about England and Burke; because peace with 
Great Britain was then sincerely desired, and 
the French were anxious to obtain the esteem 
of the English. Duch&telet made no remark 
to me, but the same evening, he said in my 
presence, to Madame Cordorcet, “ This man 
is one of those who prefer concealing what they 

p 


210 


RECOLLECTIONS 


do, to boasting of that which they have not 
done.” Scarcely was I introduced into this 
society, when I received that polished kindness 
of which the French alone have the secret, and 
which is the more flattering, because there is no 
fuss made about it, and it consists more in atten¬ 
tions than in words. My reserve with Duchatelet 
on the subject of Mirabeau, obtained the same 
reward as modesty does, which is always cen¬ 
tuple ; and he attributed to me more than I really 
had done or could do. 

I have not many recollections of these three 
weeks, because I saw too many people, and was 
in a constant bustle. I dined several times with 
Mirabeau, whose style of living was more sump¬ 
tuous than ever. He was in a state of affluence such 
as he had never known before, and certainly did 
not enjoy it with discretion. I was surprised 
at seeing him, after dinner, display a casket of 
jewels of considerable value. This was pro¬ 
claiming the civil list with a vengeance, and I was 
astonished it did not affect his popularity. He 
had purchased part of Buffon’s library, which 
was not a large collection, but very valuable. 
His table was" sumptuous, and his company 
numerous. At an early hour, his house was 


OF M1RABKAU. 


211 


full of visitors ; it was an uninterrupted levee 
from seven in the morning, till the hour at which 
he went to the assembly often through a crowd 
waiting for him at the door, to enjoy the hap¬ 
piness of seeing him pass. Though titles had 
been abolished, his remained, and he was still the 
Count de Mirabeau, not only for his guests and 
his servants, but for the people, who always love 
to bedeck their idols. Surprised at all this osten¬ 
tation, I said one day to Clavi&re, “ Mirabeau is 
badly advised ; he would make people suppose 
that he was afraid of being taken for an honest 
man.”—“ He is necessary to us ; we cannot do 
without him replied Clavi£re, “ he alone can 
keep the jacobins and the court in awe, and if he 
cost the nation a million, it would be money well 
laid out.” 

I might have become possessed of many secrets 
relative to his private political connexions, his 
particular views, his means, and his intrigues, for 
he seemed greatly disposed to unbosom himself to 
me ; but I chose to become neither a censor, nor 
a sycophant, and his conduct was in too great dis¬ 
cordance with my notion of the duties of a public 
man and the dignity of an independent mind, for 
me to think of entering with him into a subject 

p 2 


212 


RECOLLECTIONS 


which could only be unpleasant to both. He well 
knew my opinions, and hinted to me in a thousand 
different ways, that his only object was to save 
the monarchy if possible ;—that for such purpose, 
luxury and ostentation were necessary — that 
morality in trifles was always the enemy of 
morality in things of importance — that disin¬ 
terested services were of very rare occurrence— 
and that the court had hitherto thoughtlessly and 
without advantage lavished money in profusion. 

I remember an infamous anecdote of the Abb6 
Lamourette, afterwards bishop of Lyons. It oc¬ 
curred during dinner; and Garat, Volney, Cabanis, 
Palissot, and several others were present. Lamou¬ 
rette was the author of Mirabeau’s speeches upon 
the civil constitution of the clergy, and Mirabeau 
did not appear, in private, to entertain the same 
opinion upon this subject as he had maintained in 
public. On the contrary, he wished for a Catholic 
clergy, but not a dominant or exclusive one. Palis¬ 
sot was speaking of the Abb6 Gregoire who evinced 
much zeal in the cause of religion, and whom, 
with the usual intolerance of these gentlemen, he 
accused of being a charlatan, and a hypocrite. 
“ That I can safely deny,” said Lamourette, “ for 
I was his professor of Theology ; and I can vouch 


OF MIHABEAU. 


213 


for his believing in God a hundred times more 
than is necessary.”—“ Take care what you say; ” 
said Mirabeau, “here is a Genevese whom you 
will offend, for he believes in God from the bottom 
of his heart.”—“And so do I,” replied Lamou- 
rette, “ I should be very sorry that he understood 
me otherwise.”—After dinner, on opening a new 
book which lay upon the table, my attention was 
arrested by the following title: “ Meditations of 
the soul with its God , by the Abb6 Lamourette, 
Professor of Theology,” &c. 

Mirabeau was not satisfied with the side he had 
taken on the question of the clergy ; and this 1 
recollect perfectly. M. Bertrand de Molleville 
in his Annals, imputes to him very profound views, 
and thinks that in furtherance of the plan he had 
formed, it was necessary to excite the clergy 
against the assembly, in order to bring fresh 
auxiliaries to the King. This reasoning is very 
far-fetched. I should rather suppose that he had 
acted from weakness, and feared to resist the 
opinion of the revolutionists, which opinion, 
nevertheless, he did not confound with that of the 
nation. 

During the last week I spent at Paris, I saw 
Mirabeau in a new situation—one which he had 


214 


RECOLLECTIONS 


often seemed to despise, rather I should think 
from envy than indifference ;—he was made pre¬ 
sident of the assembly. Hitherto he had been 
carefully kept out of the presidency, although 
every other distinguished member, and many be¬ 
sides who had no claim to it, had already filled the 
chair. His present call to the presidency showed 
that the court party began to perceive how useful 
he might be to them, for he had too many secret 
enemies among the democrats to be elected by a 
majority consisting only of their votes. Never 
had this office been so well filled; he displayed 
in it a new kind of talent. He introduced a 
degree of order and clearness in the proceedings, 
of the possibility of which no member had pre¬ 
viously the least conception. He simplified 
forms; could render the question clear by a 
single word, and also by a single word put down 
tumult. His regard for all parties, the respect he 
always paid to the assembly, the precision of his 
observations, and his answers to the several de¬ 
putations at the bar—answers which, whether pre¬ 
pared or extempore, were always remarkable for 
dignity and elegance, and satisfactory even in 
conveying a refusal ;—in short, his activity, his 
impartiality, and his presence of mind increased 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


215 


his reputation, and added splendour to his talents 
in an office which had proved a quicksand to 
many of his predecessors. He had the art of 
appearing the first, and of fixing the general 
attention, even when, being no longer able to 
speak from the tribune, he seemed to have foregone 
his most valuable prerogative. His enemies and 
those jealous of his eloquence, who had voted for 
him, in order thereby to cast him in the shade 
and reduce him to silence, were bitterly disap¬ 
pointed when they saw him add another wreath 
to the chaplet of his glory. 

He was far from enjoying good health at this 
period. “ If I believed in slow poisons,” he said 
to me, “ I should think myself poisoned. For I 
feel that I am dying by inches—that I am being 
consumed in a slow fire.” I observed to him that 
his mode of life would long ago have destroyed 
any man less robust than he. Not an instant of 
rest from seven in the morning till ten or eleven 
at night; continual conversations, agitations of 
mind and excitement of every passion ; too high 
living, in food only, for he was very moderate in 
drink. <c You must,” I said, be a salamander to 
live in the fire which is consuming you.” Like 
all public and ambitious men in their moments of 


216 


RECOLLECTIONS 


ennui and fatigue, he entertained, at times, thoughts 
of retiring from public life. The irritation of his 
system, at this time, produced violent attacks of 
ophthalmia, and I have seen him, whilst he was 
president, sometimes apply leeches to his eyes in 
the interval during the adjournment of the sitting 
from the morning to the evening, and attend the 
assembly with his neck covered with linen to 
stanch the blood. 

When we separated, he embraced me with an 
emotion I had never before seen him evince. “ I 
shall die at the stake, my dear friend,” said he, 
“ and we shall never perhaps meet again. When 
I am gone, my value will be appreciated. Mis¬ 
fortunes to which I have put a stop, were over¬ 
whelming France in every direction; but that 
base faction’ whom I now overawe, will again be 
let loose upon the country. I have none but 
direful anticipations. Ah ! my friend, how right 
were we when, in the beginning, we tried to pre¬ 
vent the commons from being declared a national 
assembly. This is the origin of the evil. Since 
they have carried that point, they have not ceased 
to show that they are unworthy of confidence. 
They wanted to govern the King, instead of being 
governed by him; but soon neither they nor he 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


217 


will govern; a vile faction will rule the country, 
and debase it by the most atrocious crimes ” 

I did not then think that Mirabeau’s fore¬ 
bodings would be realized in every point. I con¬ 
sidered them as the mere workings of his ardent 
imagination, and felt by no means disposed to 
believe in the villany of the individuals whom he 
designated as the chiefs of the jacobins. I had 
often seen his hatred towards individuals lead him 
into similar exaggerations, and I attributed his 
sinister prognostics, in the present instance, to 
the same cause. 

Three months after this conversation, Mirabeau 


was no more.... 


218 


RECOLLECTIONS 


CHAPTER XIV. 

I am not perfectly acquainted with the pri¬ 
vate life of Mirabeau, his domestic habits, 
or the particulars of his conduct to his parents 
and his wife. The violence of his youthful 
passions may perhaps justify his fathers seve¬ 
rity; but the Marquis de Mirabeau, as violent 
as his son, had certainly not the art of governing 
the impetuous temper of the latter. Instead 
of attempting to lead him by affection, to which 
the young man was feelingly alive, he would 
fain subjugate him by force. Mirabeau used to 
compare his family to that of Atreus and Thyestes. 
The eternal quarrels between the parents formed 
the children into two hostile factions, and accus¬ 
tomed them, at a very early age to constraint and 
dissimulation ; whilst the contagion of vice had 
but too much power over such a temperament as 
Mirabeau’s, so precocious in every respect, and 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


219 


depraved by female intercourse long before his 
reason had attained to maturity. The manner in 
which he was brought up, may explain that sin¬ 
gular complication of contradictory qualities by 
which he was characterized. * 

I have heard that to obtain the hand of his 
wife he practised a very mean stratagem. The 
parents had refused their consent, from a pre¬ 
ference for a rival. It therefore became necessary 
to force this rival to withdraw, which he is said to 
have effected by the following means. He gained 
the good graces of a maid servant in the house, 
with whom he had meetings after the family were 
gone to bed. He used to drive his carriage into 
a neighbouring street, in order to impart an air 
of mystery to his motions. This carriage was 
left there several hours, and the spies of the 
rival soon reported that the Count de Mirabeau 
was in the habit of passing the night at the house 
of his mistress. The lady’s reputation became 
thus implicated, the rival withdrew, and the 
parents deemed themselves fortunate in hushing 
the matter up by consenting to the marriage. 
The happiness of this union, founded upon fraud, 
was soon interrupted by reciprocal infidelity and 
a separation. 

Mirabeau’s correspondence with Madame Mou- 


220 


RECOLLECTIONS 


nier, from his prison at Vincennes, evinced more 
of sensuality than sentiment. Many of his letters 
are so repugnant to modesty that they degrade the 
person to whom they are addressed; for no man would 
presume to adopt so licentious a style in writing 
to a woman for whom he had the least esteem. 
Garat undertook to detect the plagiarisms in this 
correspondence. I heard his paper read at M. 
de Talleyrand’s. Mirabeau, when writing to his 
mistress, would copy whole pages from several 
periodicals of the day. “ Listen, my beloved,” 
he would write, “ whilst I pour my whole soul 
into thy bosomand such intimate confidence 
was a literal transcription from the Mercure de 
France or a new novel. 

During the leisure of his solitude in prison, he 
composed an obscene work, which was nothing 
more than a compilation of the most monstrous 
impurities found in the ancients. 

That a mind like Mirabeau’s should be formed 
from materials so impure, is doubtless matter of 
astonishment ; but Mirabeau, though immoral, 
was not crapulous. He delighted in sensibility 
and affection. I have often heard him express 
disgust at seeing the unhappy victims of public 
prostitution. Nor did he make a merit of this, 
for he believed himself a greater sinner against 


OF MIHABEAU. 


221 


society than they. Mirabeau could inspire as 
well as feel affection. He had attached himself 
in Holland to an amiable woman of respectable 
family, who had united her fate to his from the 
effects of a passion which absorbed every other 
consideration. She was unmarried, young, beau¬ 
tiful, full of grace and modesty; she would 
have been an ornament to virtue, had she never 
seen Mirabeau ; and no one perhaps was more 
deserving of indulgence and commiseration. Mi- 
rabeau’s friends never forgave him for sacrificing 
this interesting creature to a wretched woman, 
who had the insolence of vice and boasted 
of her licentiousness. But Madame le Jay had 
artifice and malice; was familiar with intrigue, 
flattering, and voluptuous. This woman took 
advantage of her influence over Mirabeau to 
excite his natural violence and promote her own 
interest; and his friends lamented to see him the 
prey of a covetous and debauched female, who 
had not one good quality to compensate her 
faults. 

Mirabeau had a confidence in his own power, 
which supported him in difficulties under which 
another would have sunk. His imagination loved 
whatever was great, and his mind had extraordi¬ 
nary powers of discrimination. He had natural 


222 


RECOLLECTIONS 


good taste, which he had cultivated by reading 
the best authors of several nations. Without any 
depth of information, he made good use of the little 
he knew ; in the turmoil of his stormy life he 
wanted leisure for study, but in his prison at Vin¬ 
cennes, he went through a course of general read¬ 
ing, made translations from foreign authors, and 
formed a collection of extracts from many 
eminent writers. All this, however, scarcely 
amounted to the stock of knowledge belonging to 
the most ordinary man of letters ; and when he 
spoke with the open confidence of friendship, he 
was by no means vain of his acquirements. But 
what he possessed beyond other men, was an 
eloquent and impassioned soul, which, the instant 
itwas excited, animated every feature of his coun¬ 
tenance ; and nothing was more easy than to 
bring on the requisite degree of excitement. He 
had been accustomed, from his youth, to consider 
the two great questions of politics and government; 
but he was not competent to enter deeply into 
them. The work of discussion, examination, and 
doubt was beyond his reach. He had too much 
warmth and effervescence of mind for didactic 
method or laborious application. His mind pro¬ 
ceeded by starts and leaps, but its conceptions 
were bold and vigorous. He abounded in forcible 


OF MIHABEAU. 


223 


expressions, of which he made a particular study, 
and was peculiarly qualified to shine in a popular 
assembly, at a stormy period, when force and 
audacity were the necessary passports to success. 

As an author he cannot rank high, for all his 
works, without exception, are pieces of patch- 
work, of which very little would be left if each 
contributor took back his own. But he imparted 
splendour to whatever he touched, by introducing 
here and there luminous thoughts, original ex¬ 
pressions, and apostrophes full of fire and elo¬ 
quence. It was a singular faculty, that which 
he had of discovering obscure talents, applying 
to each the degree of encouragement necessary to 
its peculiar character, and animating those who 
possessed them with his own zeal, so as to make 
them eagerly co-operate in a work of which he 
was to reap all the credit. 

He felt himself absolutely incapable of writing 
upon any subject, except he were guided and 
supported by the work of another. His style, 
naturally strained, degenerated into turgescence, 
and he was soon disgusted w r ith the emptiness and 
incoherence of his own ideas. But when he had 
materials to work upon, he could prune and con¬ 
nect, impart a greater degree of life and force, 
and imprint upon the whole the stamp of elo- 


224 


RECOLLECTIONS 


quence. This is what he called putting the trait 
to a work. This trait consisted of a forcible ex¬ 
pression, an image, a flash of wit, an epigram, an 
irony, or an allusion; something, in short, smart 
and pungent, which he conceived absolutely ne¬ 
cessary to keep up the attention of his readers. 
It will readily be perceived how dangerous the 
trait -mania if indulged in, would become to good 
taste, and that it would rapidly lead to the affec¬ 
tation which characterized the ages of the decline 
of literature. 

As a political orator, Mirabeau was, in certain 
points, superior to all other men. He had a rapid 
coup-d'ceil, a quick and sure perception of the 
feelings of the assembly, and well knew how to 
apply his entire strength to the point of resistance 
without exhausting his means. No other orator 
ever did so much with a single word, nor hit the 
mark with so sure an aim; none but Mirabeau 
ever forced the general opinion either by a happy 
insinuation, or by a strong expression which inti¬ 
midated his adversaries. In the tribune he was 
immoveable. They who have seen him, well 
know that no agitation in the assembly had the 
least effect upon him, and that he remained 
master of his temper even under the severest 
personal attacks. I once recollect to have heard 


OF MIRABEAU. 


225 


him make a report upon the city of Marseilles. 
Each sentence was interrupted from the cotd droit 
with low abuse; the words calumniator, liar, 
assassin, and rascal, were very prodigally lavished 
upon him. On a sudden he stopped, and with a 
honied accent, as if what he had stated had been 
most favourably received, “ I am waiting, gentle¬ 
men,” said he, “ until the fine compliments you 
are paying me, are exhausted.” He never consi¬ 
dered himself sufficiently provoked to forget the 
decorum of public oratory. But what was want¬ 
ing to make him a perfect political speaker, was 
the power of discussion. His mind could not 
embrace a chain of reasoning or of evidence, nor 
could he refute methodically. Thus he was often 
obliged to abandon important motions after he 
had read his speech; for in reply, after a brilliant 
exordium, he had no alternative but to abandon 
the field of battle to his adversaries. This defect 
proceeded from his embracing too much, and not 
meditating sufficiently. He appeared with a 
speech that had been written for him, and upon 
the arguments of which he had scarcely bestowed 
any reflection. He had not taken the pains to 
anticipate objections and discuss details ; and in 
these respects he was very inferior to many of the 


Q 


226 


RECOLLECTIONS 


intellectual giants whom I had heard in the 
English parliament. The triumph of Fox, for 
instance, is in refutation. He resumes all the 
arguments of the adverse party, puts them in a 
new light, and gives them more force ;—having 
thus placed himself in the most difficult situa¬ 
tion, he pulverizes them one by one, and never 
appears stronger than when he seems about to be 
overthrown. The only speakers in the national 
assembly, possessing any share of this faculty, were 
Maury, Clermont-Tonnere, Barnave and Thouret. 
Barnave, in particular, was cased in an armour of 
logic and argument; he followed the reasoning of 
his opponents step by step, but he had neither 
imagination, style, nor eloquence. Some one 
comparing his didactic talents with Mirabeau’s 
eloquence, another said to him, “ How can you 
compare that artificial espalier to a tree exposed 
to every blast, spreading its branches in the full 
luxuriance of natural beauty ?” Certain it is that 
the two individuals were not to be compared. 
But Mirabeau was conscious of his deficiency in 
power of discussion, and one day when one of his 
attempts at refutation had been crowned with a 
degree of success, he said to us, “I well perceive 
that to speak extempore upon any subject, the 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


227 


orator must begin by making himself master of 
it.” 

Mirabeau’s voice was full, manly and sonorous; 
it filled and pleased the ear. Always powerful, 
yet flexible, it could be heard as distinctly when 
he lowered as when he raised it. He could go 
through all its notes with equal ease and dis¬ 
tinctness, and he pronounced his finals with so 
much care that the last syllable was never lost. 
His ordinary manner of speaking was very slow. 
He commenced with the appearance of a little 
embarrassment, often hesitated, but in a way to 
excite interest, and until he became animated, he 
seemed as if he were selecting the most agreeable 
expressions. In his most impassioned moments, 
the feeling which made him dwell upon certain 
words to give them emphasis, prevented him from 
ever speaking rapidly. He had the greatest con¬ 
tempt for French volubility and artificial warmth, 
which he termed the thunders and tempests 
of the opera. He never lost sight of the gravity 
of a senator, and it was a defect, perhaps, that 
when he commenced a speech, there was always 
a slight appearance of preparation and pretension. 
What seems incredible is that little notes written 
in pencil were often handed to him in the tribune, 

Q 2 


228 


li ECOL LECTIO NS 


and he had the art of reading them whilst he was 
speaking, and embodying their contents in his 
speech with the greatest facility. Garat used to 
compare him to one of those jugglers who tear 
a piece of paper into twenty little bits, swallow 
each bit separately, and at last bring forth the 
original piece whole. He had a most miraculous 
faculty of appropriating whatever he heard. A 
word, a historical fact or a quotation uttered 
in his presence, instantly became his own. One 
day when Barnave, who was very vain of his ex¬ 
temporaneous oratory, had just replied without 
preparation to a prepared speech, Champfort, 
who was talking to Mirabeau on the steps of the 
tribune, observed that facility was a fine talent if 
it were not made an improper use of. Mirabeau 
immediately took this proposition for his exor¬ 
dium, and thus began : “ I have often said that 
facility was one of the finest gifts of nature, if it 
were not made an improper use of; and what I 
have just heard, does not induce me to alter my 
opinion,” &c. 

Among his personal advantages, he counted 
his robust frame, his size, and his strongly 
marked features seared with small-pox. “You 
know not,” said he, “ all the power of my ugli- 


OF MIRABEAU. 


229 


ness but he considered this ugliness very 
handsome. He paid the greatest attention to his 
dress, and wore an enormous quantity of hair 
dressed in the fashion of the day, and which 
considerably increased the size of his head. 
“ When I shake my terrible locks,” said he, “ no 
one dares interrupt me.”.... He was fond of 
standing before a large pier glass, to see himself 
speak, squaring his shoulders and throwing back 
his head. He had also the mania of those vain 
men who are fond of hearing the sound of their 
own name, and derive pleasure from pronouncing it 
themselves. Thus he would suppose dialogues; 
and introduce himself as one of the speakers ;— 
as, for instance: “ The Count de Mirabeau will 
answer that,” &c. 

Mirabeau did not possess, particularly at first, 
the qualities necessary for the leader of a party in 
a political assembly. He was too fond of show¬ 
ing off exclusively, of doing every thing himself, 
and of engrossing all the attention. He knew 
not how to flatter the self-love of others, had 
no general plan, took the chance of whatever 
might occur from one day to another, and be¬ 
came formidable to the cotd droit without gaining 


230 


RECOLLECTIONS 


the unreserved confidence of the cote gauche . Al¬ 
though fond of flourishing about his party, he had 
no legions of his own. He was unable to submit 
to follow up regularly and assiduously the sittings 
of the assembly; he scarcely ever attended in the 
evening, and he depended too much upon his 
own powers, to condescend to consult the other 
deputies, and obtain their approbation beforehand. 
For a considerable period he was quite alone ; 
and he knew nothing of those preparatory tactics 
by which a permanent and solid body of partisans 
may be formed into a popular assembly. But, in 
many points he had much improved. No one 
knew better how to benefit by experience. Rey- 
baz, who wrote a great deal for him, and was the 
author of his speeches on the assignats and on 
many other topics, told me, that he had improved 
prodigiously, during the last six months; that is 
to say, since he had adopted a systematic plan 
and aimed at forming, in favor of the monarchy, a 
powerful union against the jacobins. 

Much has been said of the venality of Mirabeau ; 
and if some of his detractors are worthy of credit, 
his talents were actually put up to the highest 
bidder. “ Since I have been in the practice of 


OF MIRABEAU. 


231 


selling myself,” he would sometimes observe, “ I 
ought to have gained sufficient to purchase a 
kingdom ; but I know not how it happens, that I 
have always been poor, having at my command 
so many Kings, and all their treasures.” It may 
be admitted, that he was not over-scrupulous in 
money matters ; but he was too proud to be dis¬ 
honest, and he would have thrown out of the 
window any one who dared make him a humiliat¬ 
ing proposal. He received a pension from Monsieur, 
and subsequently one from the King; but he con¬ 
sidered himself an agent entrusted with their 
affairs, and he accepted those pensions not to be 
governed by, but to govern those who granted 
them. M. de Narbonne told me that he once 
heard him say, “ A man like me might accept a 
hundred thousand crowns, but I am not to be 
bought for that sum.” It is possible, however, 
that this remark was nothing more than the effect 
of the same kind of vanity, which makes a female 
opera-dancer find a charm in the high price at 
which her favours are valued. If Spain and 
England did really bribe him, what became of 
the sums he received ?—How happens it that he 
died insolvent? Although the expenses of his 


232 


RECOLLECTIONS 


establishment were considerable in proportion to 
his means, yet he did not live above the style of 
a man of ordinary opulence. And if he distri¬ 
buted, for the King s service, the monies he re¬ 
ceived, he can no longer be accused of cupidity, 
for in that case, he was nothing more than the 
King’s banker. 

I imagine that, in this kind of reputation, Mira- 
beau has paid the usury of some offences to others. 
Exaggeration is the first penalty inflicted by the 
code of public opinion. He was so fully aware 
that, if he had enjoyed personal consideration, all 
France would have been at his feet, that there 
were moments when he would have consented to 
pass “ seven times through the heated furnace,” 
to purify the name of Mirabeau. I have seen him 
weep with grief, and heard him say, almost suffo¬ 
cated with sobs ; “I am cruelly expiating the 
errors of my youth !” 

His vanity, which was never at rest, except in 
the intimate intercourse of friendship, rendered 
him more ridiculous than people choose to per¬ 
ceive, when he had become a great personage. 
To his peculiar foibles, might be traced the names 
of several comedies, The Author , The Noble, i he 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


233 


Tribune of the People , &c. He loved praise from 
all ranks and conditions; he was insatiable in 
this respect, and was not sparing of it towards 
himself, under every form which a man of wit and 
talent could make it assume. He was proud of 
his fencing, of his acting in plays, of the manner 
in which he corrected his proofs, in short of every 
thing. I told him one day, in jest, that with re¬ 
gard to praise, he would willingly breakfast 
upon an elephant, and sup upon a flesh-worm ; 
and this joke was near producing a serious 
quarrel. The historian of the revolution will, no 
doubt, find some difficulty in drawing the pub¬ 
lic character of Mirabeau. He was essentially 
in favour of monarchy, and opposed the great 
measure by which the commons revolutionized 
France ; that is to say, the decree which abolished 
the orders, and confounded them into one national 
assembly. He afterwards maintained the necessity 
of the absolute veto , because, according to his 
opinions, the King was an integral part of the 
legislative power. It is true, that after the royal 
session of the 21st of June, he was the first to 
support the assembly against the King, and that 
such support rendered the crisis decisive. But 


234 


RECOLLECTIONS 


this action must be judged by circumstances then 
existing, and not by the blunders and mishaps 
which afterwards overturned the throne. What 
I have before stated on this subject, sufficiently 
shows, that at this period, the triumph of a party 
was to be feared, who wanted to dissolve the as¬ 
sembly, and destroy all hopes of national freedom. 
The measure adopted by the King had been so 
badly prepared, that it alarmed the whole nation, 
and if Mirabeau is blamed on this account, the 
same blame must attach to all France. 

Mirabeau was desirous of giving to his country, 
a constitution as nearly resembling that of 
England as local circumstances would admit. 
But it must be allowed, that his passions, his 
thirst of popularity, the weakness of the court— 
particularly in the disbelief that he might be of 
use—M. Necker’s mistrust, and the King’s repug¬ 
nance, threw him out of his direct course, and 
made him, in his political career, describe an ir¬ 
regular and tortuous curve line, which it is impos¬ 
sible to connect with any single plan, but in which 
the perseverance and firmness characteristic of a 
great citizen, are always visible. Had he lived, 
it is probable that he would not only have con- 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


235 


strained, but overthrown the jacobins, and that in 
the revision of the constitution, he would have 
exercised unbounded influence. He would have 
given strength to the executive, and, above all, 
prevented the passing of the absurd decree 
whereby the members of the assembly, by 
declaring themselves ineligible a second time, 
abandoned their work whilst it was yet too weak 
to support itself without their assistance. He had 
previously caused the failure of two attempts to 
carry the same decree, one made by the aristo¬ 
crats, and the other by the cote gauche . 

Mirabeau is the only man of whom it may be 
thought, that if providence had spared his life, 
the destinies of France would have taken another 
course. His death gave courage to all the fac¬ 
tious. Robespierre, Potion and others, who 
dwindled into insignificance before him, imme¬ 
diately became great men. 

Mirabeau himself may be termed, not a great, 
but an extraordinary man. As a writer he does 
not belong to the first class ; as an orator he is 
below Cicero, Demosthenes, Pitt and Fox. 
Most of his writings are already forgotten, and 
his speeches, with few exceptions, have no 
longer any interest. The characteristic trait of 


236 


RECOLLECTIONS 


his genius consists in his political sagacity, in his 
anticipation of events and in his knowledge of 
mankind; all of which he appears to me to have 
displayed in a more remarkable degree than 
any other power of his vigorous mind. There 
were moments when he declared he felt himself 
a prophet; and, in truth, he seemed to have in¬ 
spirations of futurity. His sayings were not at¬ 
tended to, because others could not see so far, 
and because his forebodings were attributed to 
disappointed ambition. But I know that, at the 
very period when he prognosticated the down- 
fal of the monarchy, he had the most glorious 
anticipations of the future destinies of his coun¬ 
try. It may be seen, in his letter to Major Mau- 
villon, that he considered France as able to resist 
all Europe; and his correspondence contains 
many singular passages shewing the wide range 
of his political horizon. In 1782, he met our 
Genevese exiles at Neufchatel, and spoke to 
them of the states-general in France as of an event 
that could not fail of success. “ I shall be a de¬ 
puty,” he said, “ and will restore your country 
to freedom”... .No one felt, as he did, the con¬ 
sequences of the royal session, or penetrated so 
acutely into the views of the commons. I re- 


OF MIRABEAU. 


237 


member two truly prophetic speeches in which 
he pointed out all the evils of their separa¬ 
tion from the King. “ You will have mas¬ 
sacres,” said he in one of his speeches, “ you 
will have butchering—but you will not have even 
the execrable honor of a civil war !” His unea¬ 
siness during the cruel malady that carried him 
off so rapidly, is well known. “ I take with 
me,” said he to the Bishop of Autun, “ the last 
shreds of the monarchy.” It was by the same 
instinctive penetration that he so easily detected 
the feelings of the assembly, and so often em¬ 
barrassed his opponents by revealing their secret 
motives, and laying open that which they were 
most anxious to conceal. There seemed to exist 
no political enigma which he could not solve. 
He came at once to the most intimate secrets, 
and his sagacity alone was of more use to him 
than a multitude of spies in the enemy’s camp. 
I used sometimes to attribute the severity of his 
judgments to hatred or jealousy ; it but has 
been justified by succeeding events, and there 
was not a man of any consequence in the 
assembly, the sum of whose conduct did not 
correspond with the opinion which Mirabeau 
had formed of him. 


238 


RECOLLECTIONS 


Independently of this natural gift, this instinct 
of penetration, his life had been so agitated, he had 
been so tossed upon the sea of human existence, 
as he used to say, that he had acquired vast ex¬ 
perience of the world and of men. He detected 
in a moment every shade of character; and to 
express the result of his observations, he had 
invented a language scarcely intelligible to any 
but himself; had terms to indicate fractions of 
talents, qualities, virtues or vices —halves and 
quarters —and at a glance he could perceive 
every real or apparent contradiction. No form 
of vanity, disguised ambition, or tortuous pro¬ 
ceedings could escape his penetration ; but he 
could also perceive good qualities, and no man 
had a higher esteem for energetic and virtuous 
characters. He possessed within him an intui¬ 
tive enthusiasm for that which is great and noble, 
and he suffered it not to be degraded by his 
own vices. It was like a looking glass which 
might be tarnished with the breath, but imme- 
mediately resumed its brightness. Though his 
conduct was often in contradiction with what 
he professed, it arose not from hypocrisy, but 
thoughtlessness. He had a purity of reason 
which elevated his soul, and violent passions 


OF MIUABEAU. 


239 


which again dragged it down and degraded it. 
In a word, he was a colossus in every respect, 
and there was in him a great deal of good and a 
great deal of evil; no one could know him with¬ 
out feeling a strong interest towards him, and he 
was a man born to fill a great sphere with his 
prodigious activity. 


240 


recollections 


CHAPTER XV. 

I intend to place here, some detached anec¬ 
dotes as they occur to my memory. * 

Mirabeau was fond of conferring nicknames, 
taken from well-known names in history. This 
was an energetic mode of painting characters by 
the associations of a single word. Voltaire had set 
the example; he had called the King of Prussia 
Alaric-Cottin. Mirabeau often designated Sieyes 
by the name of Mahomet , particularly at the 
period when the latter governed the commons ; 
he called d’Esprem6nil, Crispin-Catalina, to show 
the ridicule of his conspiracies. The rigid Camus 
obtained the appellation of Drapeau-Rouge or 
red flag, in allusion to the red flag of the martial 
law, because he had a fiery countenance with a 
blood-colour nose. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


241 


“He would fain be a Grandison-Cromwell” 
said he, alluding to M. de Lafayette, whom he 
looked upon as an ambitious man without power, 
“ and would coquet with the supreme authority 
without daring to seize it, or indeed possessing 
the means of doing so.” His hatred in this par¬ 
ticular instance, made him unjust. He also said 
of Lafayette, “ he has made a good leap and 
fallen backwards;—” alluding to his not keeping 
up the high reputation he had gained in America. 
He accused him besides of desiring only the 
glory of gazettes. M. de Narbonne said that 
Lafayette had every great quality, but some¬ 
thing was wanting in each. However, Mirabeau 
gave him credit for his sang-froid . “ He has 
always possessed,” said he, “ the same degree 
of talent as he possesses now*.” 


* Knowing the great esteem entertained by M. Dumont for 
the character and talents of M. de Lafayette. I would have 
omitted this paragraph, had I not feared the reproach of garbling 
a manuscript confided to me. Many persons who had read the 
manuscript during the author’s life time, might have fancied that 
more serious alterations had taken place, had they missed this 
opinion of Mirabeau on one of the men who does the most honor 
to his country .—Note by the Genevese Editor . 


R 


242 


RECOLLECTIONS 


Washington was mentioned ; his wisdom, the 
just proportions of his different qualities, and 
his general character. Mirabeau did him justice, 
but said that in his place, after having terminated 
the American revolution, he would have col¬ 
lected an army of adventurers and attempted 
the almost certain conquest of Spanish America. 
The fact is, that Mirabeau was incapable of en¬ 
joying, in peace and retirement, the noble exist¬ 
ence of a public man after his labours; he had 
no conception of otium cum dignitate . 

Of M. Necker, he said, “ he is like a clock 
that always goes too slow.” The connection we 
had endeavoured to bring about between him 
and M. Necker was not successful; for the 
latter did not perceive the use he might be of, 
and was afraid to trust him. Necker would fain 
apply to his political connections the same de 
licacy as in a marriage, or a private transaction. 
He was unacquainted with the age in which he 
lived, and Mirabeau judged him weak and 
powerless ; considering him but a pigmy in the 
revolution. “ Mallebranche saw every thing in 
God,” said he, “ but Necker sees every thing 
in Necker.” He accused him of seeing the 


OF MIKA BEAU. 


243 


whole kingdom in the Rue Vivienne; that is to 
say in the state o.f the funds and of the treasury.* 

He said that Clavi&re was a man in head, and 
a child in heart. He always wanted a regulator; 
left to himself, he never ceased to vary. 

I have forgotten the name of a member of 
the assembly, who had at first been used 
as a speaking-trumpet, and who one day de¬ 
livered a speech very superior to his own 
talents, and which had been written for him. 
This deputy Mirabeau termed the Merry-Andrew 
of eloquence . 

Having one day seen an emblem of time 
armed with a scythe and clepsydra; he alluded 
to it at the national assembly, and said, “ we 
have taken the scythe, but not the clock.” 

* M. Necker evinced the prudery of an honest man in de¬ 
clining the acquaintance of a roue , as he considered Mirabeau. 
He has even denied this commencement of acquaintance. I was 
mentioning the circumstance to the Archbishop of Bordeaux who 
assured me that I was mistaken. “ I know,” said the Prelate, “from 
M. Necker himself, that he only saw Mirabeau twice; it was at Ver¬ 
sailles and these interviews related solely to the affairs of Geneva.” 
“ He demanded a conference,” said Necker, “ ‘ and I could not 
refuse it.’ ” It is true that the affairs of Geneva had been the 
ostensible, but not the real object. What weakness in a man of 
sense !— Note by Dumont. 

R 2 


244 


RECOLLECTIONS 


He said of the national assembly “ it has 
Hannibals enough, it only wants a Fabius.” 

Speaking of the illusions which, having once 
governed men, were for ever destroyed, he said, 
“ we have long been looking with a magic lan¬ 
tern, but the glass is now broken.” 

“ When a pond is full,” said he, “ a single 
mole, by piercing the bank, may cause an in¬ 
undation.” 

He could not bear th^t praise should be 
bestowed on mediocre talents ; for that is one of 
the secrets of envy to debase men of superior 
genius. He loved to repeat a saying of mine. 
I am not a man of bon-mots, nor is it a bon-mot that 
I am about to relate. “ We call Clermont- 
Tonnere, the French Pitt,” said some one, 
desirous of lowering Mirabeau. “ Be it so,” 
I replied, “ but I should like to know whether 
Mr. Pitt would be flattered at being termed the 
English Clermont-Tonnere.” 

Mirabeau used to relate, with great glee, an 
anecdote of his brother. The Viscount de Mi¬ 
rabeau was a very fat and heavy man; the people 
called him Tun-Mirabeau. One evening, going 
to pay his court to Mesdames the Kings aunts, 
the usher of the chamber, deceived by the 


OF MIUABEAir. 


245 


darkness of the corridor and the heavy walk of 
the Viscount, mistook him for Monsieur , the 
King’s brother, whose gait was very similar, 
and announced him as such. “ Monsieur ,” said 
he, throwing open the door of the apartment.— 
“ Oh! it is only Monsieur , brother of King 
Mirabeau,” said the Viscount, and the courtly 
circle laughed heartily at an allusion which was 
not entirely devoid of truth. 

Mirabeau, dining one day with the Count de 
Montmorrin, was asked by the latter what he 
thought of his brother. “ He would be,” replied 
Mirabeau, “ a man of wit and a scapegrace in 
any family but ours.” The Viscount was not 
behind-hand with him in epigrams. The friends 
of Tun-Mirabeau , reproaching him with having 
one evening attended the assembly almost in a 
state of intoxication, he replied, “ My brother 
has left me only that one vice.” 

Doubts have been entertained of Mirabeau’s 
personal courage; because he had wisely deter¬ 
mined to decline every duel, during the sittings 
of the national assembly. “ They can procure 
as many bullies as they like,” he said, “ and 
thus, by duels, get rid of every one who opposes 


246 


RECOLLECTIONS 


them. For if a man kills ten of these fellows, 
he may fall by the hand of the eleventh.” He 
was always armed with pistols, and so were his 
servants. He feared assassination, but without 
any good ground, for no attempt was ever made 
upon his life. And who indeed would have dared 
to commit so dangerous a crime, knowing his 
immense popularity ? One evening at Versailles, 
having left us at about eleven o’clock, he re¬ 
turned some minutes after in manifest agitation. 
He was attended by one of his servants, who 
had stopped him in the street and pointed out 
a man, wrapped up in a cloak, apparently 
lying in wait. We went out with him to see 
who it could be. The suspicious individual was 
still in the same place. He allowed himself to 
be accosted. “ Pray, Sir,” said Mirabeau, 
“ may I ask what you are doing here at this 
late hour ?”—“ Sir,” replied the stranger, “ I am 
waiting for my master, who is in a neighbour¬ 
ing house.”—“ And may 1 ask, why you have 
a sword under your cloak?”—“ Because my 
master gives it to me when he enters that house, 
and resumes it on coming out.” After this, we 
easily saw that the adventure was not a sinister 


OF MIRABEAU. 


247 


one, and having escorted Mirabeau to his own 
door, returned home without any suspicious en¬ 
counter. 

Mirabeau’s servants were much attached to 
him. I went with him to the Bastille a few days 
after its capture; we visited every accessible 
part of the fortress, and descended to a dungeon, 
into which Mirabeau’s servant was not allowed 
to follow us. The poor fellow burst into tears, 
and conjured me to keep an eye upon his master, 
who might otherwise be killed in the dungeon. 
The idea of the Bastille was associated in the 
minds of the people with the most sinister ideas, 
and the dead body of the monster still threw 
them into an agony of fear. 

I forgot to mention this visit to the Bastille, 
in its proper place. It was a triumphal proces¬ 
sion for Mirabeau. The crowd in the Rue St. 
Antoine and the adjacent parts, opened to af¬ 
ford him a passage. Poetry and flowers were 
thrown over him, and his carriage was filled with 
books and manuscripts, taken from the fortress 
during the first two or three days subsequent to 
its fall. I was put in possession of some of the 
most curious, which remained in my charge two 
or three months; but the committee at the H6tel- 


248 


RECOLLECTIONS 


de-Ville who published the reports, called upon 
such persons as had any of these manuscripts 
to deliver them up. Mine contained an account 
of a series of emprisonments which took place 
at the end of the reign of Louis XV, and the 
beginning of that of Louis XVI. I felt a scruple 
of conscience in detaining them, and therefore 
forwarded them to the committee. 

Mirabeau had a valet-de-chambre, whose name 
was Teutch. This man had been a smuggler, 
and had performed prodigies of valour without 
even suspecting that he had done any thing ex¬ 
traordinary. “ How these freebooters debase 
courage,” once observed Mirabeau; “ the greatest 
intrepidity is the inheritance of the basest of 
men ! ” Teutch’s personal services lasted a long 
time, for Mirabeau was very recherchd in his 
toilet, and moreover, sometimes amused himself 
with kicking and thumping Teutch, who con¬ 
sidered these rough caresses as marks of friend¬ 
ship. When, from occupation or some other 
cause, several days had elapsed without any such 
tokens being given, poor Teutch was very sad, and 
his service seemed to weigh heavily upon him. 
“What is the matter, Teutch? ” said his master 
one day ; “ you look very melancholy.”—“ Mon- 


OF MIRABEAU. 


249 


sieur le Comte neglects me quite.”—“ How! what 
do you mean ? ” said Mirabeau. “ Monsieur Ie 
Comte has not taken any notice of me for this 
week past.”—Thus it was really a necessary act 
of humanity to give him now and then a good 
blow in the stomach ; and if he were knocked 
down, he laughed heartily and was quite de¬ 
lighted. The despair of this man at Mirabeau’s 
death is inconceivable. Mirabeau’s secretary, 
also, thought proper to carry his affliction a 
degree beyond that of the public, and in his grief, 
inflicted upon himself several stabs with a pen¬ 
knife, of which, however, he took good care not 
to die. 

Mirabeau had a son five or six years old, whose 
mother I never knew. This poor boy was loved 
and neglected by his father. “ That child,” said 
Mirabeau, by way of praise, “ has a ferocious 
heart.” He thought that every thing connected 
with the blood of a Mirabeau, must needs be 
extraordinary. Finding the poor child very much 
neglected, I caressed and fondled him, and was 
much surprised at seeing this pretended ferocious 
little animal take my hands, not to bite, but to 
kiss them. He appeared to me of an amiable 
disposition, and might easily have been managed 


250 


RECOLLECTIONS 


with a little affectionate care. The father did for 
his child as for himself; he stole the smart sayings 
of other children to attribute them to his; and it 
was perhaps in this way that he had himself been 
accustomed in his youth to live upon the property 
of others as if it were his own. 

Mirabeau had imbibed much regard and esteem 
for Cabanis, then a very young physician, but 
who was amiable, witty, and had a most un¬ 
bounded admiration for him. He trusted Cabanis 
from friendship, and was delighted at being able 
to contribute to his reputation. In his last illness, 
Mirabeau would have no other physician, al¬ 
though the danger was manifest; for he was 
anxious to show Cabanis that he did not doubt 
his abilities, and desirous of giving him the full 
credit of his cure. Cabanis published an account 
of Mirabeau’s illness, and a copy of his will. I 
was then at Geneva. From this expose, our best 
practitioners were of opinion that, from the 
second day, the physician mistook the com 
plaint, and lost his presence of mind ; that the 
charge, in short, had been too much for him. 
Two years after, I ascertained that the physicians 
of Edinburgh were of the same opinion. They 
did not say that his death had been caused by the 


OF MIRABEAU. 


251 


mode of treatment, but that nothing had been 
done to effect a cure; in a word, that the disorder 
which is distinctly described in the work of 
Cabanis, had not been treated at all. There was 
not the slightest appearance of poison; and that 
idea was therefore deemed totally unfounded. 
The complaint was acute enteritis brought on by 
excesses. Even the actresses at the opera sought 
the glory of captivating this Hercules, who, 
trusting to the strength of his constitution, gave 
himself up, without restraint, to every kind of 
pleasure. 

The Bishop of Autun who saw much of him 
during his last illness, which lasted only four or 
five days, told me, that as soon as the fits of 
dreadfully acute pain were over, he would resume 
his serenity, his mildness and his amiable atten¬ 
tions to those about him. He was the same to 
the last moment. He perceived that he was an 
object of general interest, and did not for a 
moment cease speaking and acting as if he were a 
great and noble actor performing his part. He 
dramatized his death was the happy expression of 
the Bishop of Autun. In the extreme agony of 
convulsions, and covered with a chilly perspi¬ 
ration, there were moments when it required more 


252 


RECOLLECTIONS 


than the force of a philosopher to support life. 
“ I shall suffer,” he would mildly say, “ so long 
as you have the least hopes of my cure : but if 
you have no longer any, have the humanity to put 
an end to my sufferings of which you can form no 
idea.” After one of these violent attacks which 
had overcome his fortitude, and forced him to 
groan aloud, he called for his papers, and having 
selected a speech upon wills, “ There !” said he to 
the Bishop of Autun, “ these are the last thoughts 
the world will have of mine. I deposit this manu¬ 
script with you; read it when I am no more; it is 
my legacy to the assembly.” This speech on wills 
was, to my knowledge, written by M. Reybaz. 
It is done with great care, and its style is not at 
all like that of Mirabeau. It is a remarkable 
fact that, on his very death-bed, Mirabeau pre¬ 
served this thirst for artificial fame, when he had 
so much personal glory that his reputation re¬ 
quired not to be decked with the laurels of others.* 

* A speech on the slave trade disappeared from among his 
papers. It was written by three or four different hands, and Mira¬ 
beau had himself worked at it with affection. I recollect a beau¬ 
tiful image which he had thrown into a description : “ Let us 
follow upon the Atlantic, that ship laden with captives, or rather 
that long-coffin” &c. Impatient of applause, he read this speech 


OF MIRABEAU, 


253 




Had I not lived with Mirabeau, I never should 
have known all that can be done in one day, or 
rather in an interval of twelve hours. A day to 
him was of more value than a week or a month to 
others. The business which he carried on simul¬ 
taneously, was prodigious; from the conception of 
a project to its execution, there was no time lost. 
To-morrow was not to him the same impostor as to 
most other men. Conversation alone could se¬ 
duce him from his labours, and even that he con¬ 
verted into a means of work ; for it was always 
at the end of some conversation that active labour 
was begun, and writings prepared. He read 
little; but he read with great rapidity, and dis¬ 
covered, at a glance, whatever was new and 
interesting in a book. Writings were copied in 
his house with prodigious quickness. As fast as a 
speech changed its form by corrections or ad¬ 
ditions, he had fresh copies of it made. This 
labour sometimes proved too much for those who 


at the jacobins’ club, where be produced such an effect, that the 
persons interested in slave dealing united all their strength to pre¬ 
vent the subject from being discussed in the assembly. They 
were afraid lest Mirabeau’s speech should, by a decree of enthu¬ 
siasm lead to the immediate abolition of the slave trade .—Note by 
Dumont . 


254 


KECOLLECTIONS 


undertook it; but his haste of temper was known, 
and he must be obeyed. “ Monsieur le Comte,” 
said his secretary to him one day, “ the thing you 
require is impossible.” — “ Impossible ! ” ex¬ 
claimed Mirabeau, starting from his chair; “ never 
again use that foolish word in my presence ! ” 
Mirabeau, in connecting himself with the court 
during the last six months of his life, had no 
other object than to become a minister. To at¬ 
tain this, it became necessary to revoke seve¬ 
ral decrees of the assembly. The project of 
a counter-revolution has been attributed to him, 
during this period. I am not aware of such a 
thing. His hatred and contempt of the con¬ 
stituent assembly render it indeed probable; 
but the experience he had acquired leads to the 
supposition that he would have undertaken no¬ 
thing rashly. I am persuaded that he was de¬ 
sirous of restoring the royal authority; but 
I am confident that he would have insisted 
upon a constitution similar to that of Eng¬ 
land, and never sanctioned any plan of which 
national representation did not constitute the 
basis. He was favorable to an aristocracy, 
because he considered it essential to a mo¬ 
narchy; and the decree abolishing titles of no- 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


255 


bi.lity is one which he would have caused to be 
revoked. 

Bouill6’s memoirs leave no doubt of Mirabeau’s 
connection with the court, from the beginning of 
1791. The King, in his letter to Bouill6, writes 
in allusion to Mirabeau and some others, " Al¬ 
though these men are not respectable charac¬ 
ters, and I have paid an enormous price for 
the services of the first, yet I think they may 
be of some use to me; and it seems advisable 
to adopt certain parts of their plan.” This plan 
was to dissolve the assembly, by the force and 
will of the nation itself, by getting up addresses 
from the departments ; and that, without having 
recourse to foreign armies, or destroying the 
people’s hopes of freedom—for a new assembly 
was to be convoked forthwith. This plan, there¬ 
fore, does not warrant Mirabeau’s being con¬ 
sidered as a traitor to the popular cause; he was 
too able a tactician for that. He well knew 
that all his power lay in the public opinion, 
and that by restoring absolute power to the King, 
he should destroy himself. 

All his ambition was centered in the idea of 
becoming prime minister of France; and he 
thought that he should eclipse every minister 


256 


RECOLLECTIONS 


who had preceded him. He felt himself power¬ 
ful enough to attract within the sphere of his 
patronage, every man of distinguished abilities, 
and he would, he said, compose a halo of ta¬ 
lents whose brightness should dazzle Europe. 


OF MIKA BE A IT. 


257 


CHAPTER XVI. 


In May 1791, I returned from Geneva, and 
went to reside with Biddermann the Swiss 
banker, one of my intimate friends. His house 
was the rendezvous of several members of the 
assembly, and Clavi&re, Brissot and Reybaz were 
among his guests. I seldom went to the as¬ 
sembly, which no longer interested me now 
Mirabeau was no more. It was occupied 
about the municipalities, the assignats, &c. 
The influence of the jacobins had increased, 
for the death of Mirabeau had freed them from 
their most powerful antagonist. Ambitious sub¬ 
alterns could now with safety try their mediocre 
powers of eloquence. 


258 


RECOLLECTIONS 


The King had gone to the assembly and, 
without being called upon, had renewed 
the oath to be faithful to the constitution and 
co-operate in its establishment.—A fortnight af¬ 
ter, he escaped one evening from the palace, 
after having eluded the vigilance of Lafayette 
and his guards. The secret had been so well 
kept that not the least suspicion was raised. 
D’Andr6 would not, at first, believe it, although 
informed of it at six o’clock in the morning, 
by one of his friends, a valet-de-chamhre at the 
palace. Every one was in blind security; for 
it seemed impossible to elude the watchfulness 
of so many individuals. 

The assembly proved worthy of itself on this oc¬ 
casion. The cdte droit , uneasy in the midst of Paris, 
feared to testify their joy; the cote gauche, alarmed at 
an event which seemed to presage civil war, resolved 
to act with prudence. Prompt and quiet mea¬ 
sures were taken to bring back the monarch; 
and the occurrence was mentioned in the as¬ 
sembly as the effect of a conspiracy against the 
King himself—as a forcible abduction, of which 
the nation would soon be avenged. Pains were 
taken to keep the people quiet, and the public 
works went on, as if no change had occurred 


OF MIRA BE A U. 


259 


and the King only gone on an excursion of plea¬ 
sure. In this moderation may be traced the 
effect of strong contending passions acting upon 
and containing each other; and it proves that 
the majority was composed of honest and en¬ 
lightened men capable of calculating all the 
consequences of their actions; and who would 
not risk the peace of their country. If the 
King had not been taken, it is very proba¬ 
ble that this majority of the assembly would 
have treated with him and satisfied him on 
the principal points of which he complained. 
The Parisians seemed inspired, on this oc¬ 
casion, with superior wisdom and were as 
quiet as possible. Nothing was heard but 
jests upon the royal family; bitter jests, it is 
true, and which but too clearly indicated that 
this family had forfeited all respect and confi¬ 
dence. “ The traitor is unmasked ? This then 
is the result of his oaths; these are his courtly 
protestations ! We were great fools to believe 
that a King could love freedom and forego the 
pleasures of despotism !” I heard such re¬ 
marks in every public place. There was not 
a term of degradation that the people did not 

s 2 


260 


RECOLLECTIONS 


apply to the King, but with the greatest sang¬ 
froid and unaccompanied with tumult. A few 
hours after the King’s flight, every sign of royal¬ 
ty disappeared, one after the other. Whatever 
bore the name of the King or any other member of 
the royal family, was pulled down; for the people 
would not leave any thing standing which was 
calculated to remind them of a King who had vio¬ 
lated his oath. The most libellous songs enliven¬ 
ed the streets, and in a few hours every one had 
found out that a King was not at all necessary. 
Levity, fickleness and inconsistency are the cha¬ 
racteristics of the people of Paris. “ If the 
King leaves us,” said they gaily, “ the nation 
remains. A nation may exist without a King, 
but not a King without a nation.” Surely, if 
the King supposed that his departure would 
throw the multitude into consternation, he 
must have been astonished at the general in¬ 
difference. Reliance upon the assembly seemed 
the prevailing sentiment. At first M. de La¬ 
fayette was in danger, being considered an ac¬ 
complice ; but when it became known that he 
had been deluded by the court, his popularity 
increased. “ There is our stumbling block gone 


OF MIRABEAU. 


261 


was written to me by an individual, who rendered 
thanks to heaven that the King had thus abdi¬ 
cated the throne. 

The famous Paine was at this time at Paris, 
and very intimate in Condorcet’s family. He 
thought he had effected the revolution in America, 
and fancied himself called upon to bring about 
another in France. 

The whim of writing upon these subjects seized 
me; I had an idea of making the shade of Mlra- 
beau speak ; and I anticipated a secret pleasure 
from hearing the observations of the public upon 
a work bearing his name. I began with some 
degree of success and felt inspired by the subject. 
I represented the King’s flight as a conspiracy of 
the court party ; 1 called upon the people to give 
an imposing and majestic strength to the national 
assembly, and I pressed the assembly itself to 
declare that it would always support the King; 
and that when it had delivered him from his cap¬ 
tivity, it would bring to condign punishment the 
conspirators who had violated the national dig¬ 
nity. I apostrophised the King, and pointed out 
to him the misfortune of a prince whom a base 
faction would fain oblige to conquer his people, 
and render himself an odious tyrant. I flattered 


262 


RECOLLECTIONS 


myself that I had conjured up the shade of Mira- 
beau to some purpose, and imparted to it lan¬ 
guage and sentiments which Mirabeau himself 
would not have disavowed, when Duchatelet 
called upon me. After a short preamble, he put 
into my hand an English manuscript, in the form 
of a proclamation to the French people. It 
was nothing less than a manifesto against royal¬ 
ty, and it called upon the nation to seize 
the opportunity, and become a republic. Paine 
was the author of it. Duchatelet was deter¬ 
mined to adopt and put his name to it, to placard 
it on the walls of Paris and stand to the conse¬ 
quences. He came to request that I would 
translate it and add some necessary develop¬ 
ments. I began by discussing with him this 
strange proposal; and pointed out the danger of 
raising the standard of republicanism without the 
concurrence of the national assembly. Nothing 
was yet known of the Kings intentions or means; 
how he was supported, or what were his alliances, 
his army , and the assistance he would receive from 
the provinces. I asked Duchatelet whether he had 
consulted with any of the most influential men, 
such as Sieyes, Lafayette, and others ? He had 
not; he acted alone. Paine and he, the one an 


OF MIRABEAU. 


263 


American, the other a young thoughtless member 
of the French nobility, put themselves forward 
to change the whole system of government in 
France. I resisted all his entreaties, and pe¬ 
remptorily refused to translate his proclamation. 
In vain did he urge that I shared none of the 
responsibility; that whether I acceded to his 
wishes or not, the thing would be done, and that 
I might as well assist him as a friend and blame 
him, at the same time, if I thought proper. I 
afterwards congratulated myself on having re¬ 
mained inflexible, and for fear of evil conse¬ 
quences to myself, I determined to make Mira- 
beau return to the tomb. Next day, the repub¬ 
lican proclamation, signed Duchatelet, appeared on 
the walls in every part of Paris, and was denounced 
to the assembly. The idea of a republic had pre¬ 
sented itself to no one, and the first intimation of 
such a thing filled the cotd droit and the moderates 
of the cot£ gauche with consternation. Mallouet, 
Cazal&s, and several others proposed that the 
author should be prosecuted ; but Chapelier, 
backed by a numerous party, fearful of adding 
fuel to the fire instead of extinguishing it, moved 
the order of the day, on the plea that the proposal 
was an absurdity and the author a madman. 


264 


RECOLLECTIONS 


I owe it to truth to declare, that Duchatelet 
sounded many persons, and was listened to by 
none ; that Sieyes refused his concurrence in 
terms of the greatest contempt ; that several 
individuals urged that the time for a republic was 
not yet come, and that Lafayette, in particular, 
repulsed all those who spoke to him on the sub¬ 
ject, and declared, if I am rightly informed, that 
it required at least twenty years more to bring 
freedom to maturity inFrance. 

But some of the seed thrown out by the auda¬ 
cious hand of Paine, began to bud forth in the 
minds of many leading individuals. Since the 
flight of the King, Condorcet had become a deter¬ 
mined republican; Clavikre, Potion, and Brissot 
met to discuss the question ; it was also men¬ 
tioned at Biddermann’s, and I saw the formation 
of the first filaments of republicanism which 
became so rapidly developed in the southern 
provinces. The following was the reasoning of 
the different committees : “ The King has for¬ 
feited the public confidence, which he can never 
recover. The nation cannot forget his flight after 
such positive oaths freely taken. He cannot 
himself forget that he has been brought back by 
force, and that he reigns by mere sufferance over 


OF M1RABEAU 


265 


a people who despise him either as a weak man 
or as a traitor. The elements of the monarchy are 
destroyed, for the King can no longer appear but 
as a conspirator; and nothing would be more 
absurd than to confide high powers in the con¬ 
stitution to one who has declared himself its 
enemy.” 

Though these arguments were very strong 
against the King personally, they were weak 
against royalty in the abstract. No line between 
the person and the office was drawn, because it 
presented a difficulty which could not then be 
solved, except by placing some other member of 
the royal family upon the throne. This alterna¬ 
tive pleased none of the individuals I have named, 
for the Duke of Orleans, the only prince who 
could have been selected, was considered too 
despicable. 

It was further urged, that for two years past, it 
was the assembly who had governed, and not the 
King. The obstacles had all proceeded from the 
latter, the resources from the former. At length 
Condorcet said, “ If a republic were formed by a 
revolution, and the people rose against the court, 
the consequences would be terrible; but if a re¬ 
public be formed at present, whilst the assembly 


2G6 


RECOLLECTIONS 


is all-powerful, the passage from monarchy to 
republicanism will not be difficult; and it is much 
better that it should take place now when the 
King, from the situation in which he has placed 
himself, is reduced to nothing, than when suffi¬ 
cient power has been restored to him to render 
his overthrow an effort.” As for royalty itself, it 
was looked upon as a bugbear for children and a 
plaything for men. 

Whilst the assembly were discussing the steps 
to be taken with regard to the King’s conduct, 
these new republicans were desirous that he 
should be brought to trial, his abdication pro¬ 
claimed, and France boldly declared a republic. 

The opinion of persons with whom I was inti¬ 
mate had an influence upon mine; but after all, it 
was but an opinion, and one which raised constant 
doubts in my mind. I found great interest in 
attending their meetings and listening to the dis¬ 
cussion of a subject of such vast importance. I 
remember one day, having met at Potion’s to 
determine upon a motion to be made in the 
assembly upon the King’s return; Petion was 
playing the violin, and Brissot became seriously 
angry at such indifference and frivolity at a 
moment when the fate of the monarchy was to 


OF MIRABEAU. 


267 


be decided upon. Potion had been deputed, with 
Barnave, to go and fetch the King at Varennes. 
It is certain that this honor had not changed 
him. Barnave, he informed us, was like a pro¬ 
vincial bourgeois , struck with surprise and admira¬ 
tion at finding himself in the same carriage with 
the King. As for Potion himself—and I attribute 
it more to his insensibility than to his magnani¬ 
mity—he was not even moved with compas¬ 
sion for a prince fallen from his greatness, and 
felt no personal vanity ; or rather, one species of 
pride had contended with another. The self- 
love of Petion, who was looking for popular 
honors, had rendered him insensible to courtly 
honors. As a courtier of the people, he despised 
the courtiers of the King. He thought that the 
popular favour led to power, and the royal favour 
to nothing at all. He was one of those men who 
can dispense with fortune, because they require 
no luxuries. I believe him to have been incor¬ 
ruptible in money matters; but there are so many 
other sources of corruption ! 

Brissot was more disinterested, but fanatical 
and obstinate. I will speak of him more largely 
hereafter. He had many noble qualities, but 
they were corrupted by party spirit and dege- 


268 


RECOLLECTIONS 


nerated into vices; though a man formed to do 
good, he became the tool of evil. 

I had a high opinion of Condorcet, whose 
judgment influenced that of many others. The 
friends who met at his house, formed the true 
nucleus of the republic.* It was said that Madame 
Condorcet had been treated contemptuously by 
the Queen, and that her republican zeal origi¬ 
nated in a woman’s vengeance. But I do not 
believe it. Madame Condorcet owed her love of 
republicanism to her own serious character, to 
a mind fond of philosophical meditation, to the 
reading of republican works and to her passion 
for the writings of Rousseau. Her husband had 

* The greatest misfortunes in France originated perhaps in the 
republic having arisen from a storm, instead of being formed 
with deliberation. I do not mean to assert that a good republic 
might have been made for France; only that the same spirit 
which deprived the King of his authority would have prevented 
him from resuming or maintaining it; and it is in this point of 
view alone that Condorcet and his followers ought to be judged. 
He was not a jacobin; he perceived what the jacobins wanted, 
and urged the formation of a republic by the assembly, to prevent 
one from being established by the populace. The most incon¬ 
sistent were they who, like Sieyes, not being republicans, did 
not cease their attacks upon the feeble remains of royal authority. 
—Note by Dumont . 


OF MIRABEAU. 


269 


an enthusiasm of reflection ; she, of sentiment. 
Both felt convinced that freedom could never 
flourish in France, and spring up to a goodly 
tree, under the shadow of a throne. Paine had 
given them false notions of England, which I 
often combated in vain. America seemed to 
them the model of a good government, and they 
considered it easy to introduce the system of 
federalism into France. 

Robespierre was so alarmed at the King s 
flight that he hid himself two whole days, and 
intended to proceed for safety to Marseilles. On 
the King’s return, he began to listen to Brissot 
and Potion, but with much reserve at first; and 
he continued to undermine the monarchy without 
declaring himself in favour of a republic. 

From what I have stated, it is evident that the 
first republicans were not creatures of the Duke 
of Orleans, as has b6en asserted. They were 
independent men, and I see not what moral re¬ 
proach they incurred whilst their opinion re¬ 
mained only an opinion. The King’s departure 
was proof clear enough that the court would 
never be reconciled to the constitution upon 
which the people then founded all their hopes of 
liberty. 


270 


RECOLLECTIONS 


Several members of the assembly, however, 
came to a more prudent way of thinking. They 
readily conceived that a humane and virtuous 
monarch, might, by the endless humiliations 
inflicted upon him, be driven to an act of des¬ 
pair. From that time, Lafayette began to fear 
the jacobins more than the royalists. Duport, 
Barnave and the Lameths perceived the necessity 
of again supporting the monarch and attaching 
him to the constitution, by an interest common 
to both. They therefore pursued a new plan; 
but having found it easier to destroy than 
to re-establish, they lost, as moderates, the 
popularity which they had acquired as factious 
men. 

I remained at Paris but a few days after the 
King’s return. My fellow travellers to London 
were the celebrated Paine and Lord Daer, a 
young Scotchman, mad after liberty and republi¬ 
canism—an honest and virtuous enthusiast who 
conceived that, by transplanting the principles 
of the French revolution into his own country, 
he should be rendering it the greatest service. 
I had met Paine five or six times before, and I 
could easily excuse, in an American, his preju¬ 
dices against England. But his egregious con- 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


271 


ceit and presumptuous self-sufficiency quite dis¬ 
gusted me. He was drunk with vanity. If you 
believed him, it was he who had done every 
thing in America. He was an absolute carica¬ 
ture of the vainest of Frenchmen. He fancied that 
his book upon the Rights of Man ought to be 
substituted for every other book in the world ; and 
he told us roundly that, if it were in his power to 
annihilate every library in existence, he would do 
so without hesitation in order to eradicate the 
errors they contained and commence with the 
Rights of Man, a new era of ideas and principles. 
He knew all his own writings by heart, but he knew 
nothing else. He repeated to us even love letters 
of his composition written in the most fantastic 
style. They were the effusions of his youth and 
worthy of Mascarillo. Yet Paine was a man 
of talent, full of imagination, gifted with popular 
eloquence, and wielded, not without skill, the wea¬ 
pon of irony. My curiosity concerning this cele¬ 
brated writer was more than satisfied during this 
journey, and I saw him no more. 

My friends forwarded to me in London, the 
first four numbers of the Republican , a periodical 
work to which I had promised to become a con- 


272 


RECOLLECTIONS 


tributor.* But my ideas, in a state of excite¬ 
ment from my residence at Paris, had soon 
became more temperate in London. Being no 
longer within the influence of a fascinating society, 

I considered the subject in a different point of 
view, and wrote a long letter to Clavikre not 
only to inform him that I retracted my engage¬ 
ment, but to represent to him that such a journal, 
being in direct opposition to the national assem¬ 
bly and the constitution already decreed, would 
be a criminal publication. I further urged that, 
since the King’s return, the opportunity of 
founding a republic had gone by, and that he 
and all his friends, would be incapacitated from 
serving the nation, if they persevered in princi¬ 
ples which were no longer professed except by a 
particular faction. I replied in the same strain 
to the letters of Madame Condorcet. Clavi&re, 

* I wrote, for this republican journal, an article which was 
published in the two first numbers, after my departure, but with 
such changes and mutilations that I no longer recognized it as 
my own. These alterations consisted in additions, suppressions 
and expressions injurious to the King, all which were not in 
unison with either my political opinions or my personal feelings. 
—Note by Dumont . 


OF MIRABEAU. 


273 


soon after, wrote that the Republican was given 
up, and the idea of a republic no longer existed; 
that there was a reaction wholly in favour of 
monarchy; that the assembly itself seemed 
to be promoting a counter-revolution, and that 
the sole suspicion of republicanism had become 
an odious imputation. 

The assembly, then in the act of revising the 
constitution, showed a desire to abandon its 
errors, correct exaggerations, and associate the 
King with public liberty. But each time a pro¬ 
posal was made tending to strengthen the execu¬ 
tive, the parti de la Montague called out treason. 
If, however, the well-thinking portion of the 
assembly, who had discovered their error, had 
then thought of meeting and concerting measures 
of united action, it is probable that the constitu¬ 
tion would have undergone important amend¬ 
ments. 1 had many particulars from d'Andr6, 
the leading personage in the assembly during 
these four months. Though not the most ostensi¬ 
ble, he was the most skilful, the most flexible, and 
the most able member in preparing a motion and 
making it succeed. When a plan was agreed 
upon in the committee of Lafayette, Larouche- 
foucauld, &c., d’Andre went early to the assem- 


T 


274 


RECOLLECTIONS 


bly. As the members came in, he consulted them, 
insinuated his opinion, got them to press him to 
propose it, and did not seem to accede until they 
had promised to support him. This is the art 
he used to strengthen his party, and, in giving an 
opinion, he always seemed to be following one 
that had been suggested to him. 

The parti de la Montague , often thwarted by 
d’Andr6, took a dislike to him. Brissot, in his 
Patriot , attacked him with incredible virulence. 
The jacobins looked upon him as a man sold to 
the King. He had much talent and dexterity, 
but no imposing eloquence, and this is the reason 
why he never succeeded in making himself po¬ 
pular. Sieyes, who would sometimes give way 
to a vein of pleasantry, was very fond of reciting 
a dialogue supposed to have passed between 
d’Andre and John, his valet-de-chambre. 

“ D'Andrd. What is the order of the day ? 

John . Sir, it is the question of the King’s 
commissaries in the courts of justice. 

D'Andrd. Help me off with this coat, and give 
me the old one. 

John. It is worn out at the elbows, sir. 

D'Andrd So much the better; that is just 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


275 


what I want. Give me my old hat and my old 
stockings. 

John . Will you have your boots, sir ? It is 
wet under foot. 

D Andre . No, they are quite new; give me 
my thick shoes with iron nails; a little mud 
spoils nothing. This is an important question. 
Now, I am well dressed; who the devil, seeing 
me in this trim, would think of the civil list?” 

D’Andr6 complained to me more of his asso¬ 
ciates than of his enemies. Their indolence was 
extreme; they were weakened by the secret 
consciousness of having changed their opinions; 
and when accused of inconsistency and contra¬ 
diction, they could not reply to their opponents. 
In a word, they had been all fire in the attack, 
but were chilled in the defence. They often 
assembled in private, deliberated a long time and 
determined upon nothing. The 'parti de la Mon - 
tagne had the advantage over them of consist¬ 
ency, whilst among the moderates were to be 
found traitors to their own principles. 

D’Andr6 said that the greatest obstacles pro¬ 
ceeded from the court. The King listened to a 
great many different counsellors, whose advice 
he rendered nugatory by an ill-judged amalga- 
t 2 


276 


RECOLLECTIONS 


mation of the whole. There was a number of 
petty intrigues, but no really concerted co-opera¬ 
tion. A succession of foolish measures brought 
suspicion upon the court, and gave the appear¬ 
ance of counter-revolution to the acts of those 
who were working heart and hand for the mainte- 
tenance of the constitutional monarchy. The 
greatest of their annoyances was to find them¬ 
selves connected with persons who would have 
hanged them all for the re-establishment of des¬ 
potism. 

The court party certainly committed suicide. 
The King was so badly advised, particularly by 
the Queen, that he exerted all his influence 
to get the decree passed, which rendered the 
members of the first assembly ineligible to 
the second. D’Andr6 made me acquainted 
with all the particulars. He received a visit 
from one of the King’s confidants, who, after 
preparing the way with a great deal of non¬ 
sense about gratitude, the esteem of the sove¬ 
reign and future favours, told him that the court 
depended upon him to support this decree. 
D’Andr6 who considered it as destructive of the 
constitution, did all in his power to open the 
King’s eyes upon this point. To save time he 


OF MIIIABEAU. 


277 


got the question adjourned; employed those who 
had influence at court, to point out the evils which 
would be the result—but the blindness was com¬ 
plete ; and the resentment of the Queen against 
most of the members of the cdtd gauche , was so 
violent, that she considered the monarchy saved, 
if she could only succeed in excluding from the 
assembly, the men who had destroyed the power 
of the crown. The court had been led, or pre¬ 
tended to suppose that the provinces were well- 
intentioned—that the King was beloved by his 
people, and that the electors would return men 
of a very different character, who would repair 
the faults of their predecessors. D’Andr6, who 
presided when the decree was proposed, saw, 
with astonishment, the whole cote droit who had 
been gained by the court party, join the parti de 
la Montague , to get it passed without a discus¬ 
sion. “To the vote! to the vote!” resounded on 
all sides. D’Andr6 exerted himself to enable his 
friends to speak, and subdue this dangerous en¬ 
thusiasm, but could not succeed. The decree 
was passed by acclamation, and the persons most 
pleased with its success, were they who, by 
supporting it, had prepared their own downfal. 


278 


RECOLLECTIONS 


The constitution was a true anomaly, contain¬ 
ing too much of republicanism for a monarchy, 
and too much of monarchy for a republic. The 
King was an absolute excrescence ; he appeared 
every where but possessed no real power. 


OF MlRABEAU. 


279 


CHAPTER XVII. 

No event ever inspired the whole of Europe 
with so deep an interest as the convocation of the 
states-general. Every enlightened and reflecting 
mind associated the most flattering anticipations 
with this public struggle against old and deeply 
rooted prejudices, and expected a new moral and 
political world to arise out of chaos. The neces¬ 
sity of hope was so great, that all faults were 
pardoned, all misfortunes imputed to accident; 
and in spite of calamities, the balance remained 
in favour of the constituant assembly. It was the 
prosecution of despotism by humanity. 

Six weeks after the convocation of the states- 
general, they no longer existed—they had been 
converted into a national assembly, whose first 


280 


RECOLLECTIONS 


misfortune was, that it owed its new title to a re¬ 
volution ; that is to say, to a change in its 
powers, its attributes, its title and its means. 
The commons should have acted in concert with 
the nobles, the clergy, and the King; instead of 
which, they subjugated the clergy, the King, and 
the nobles, and acted not only without, but 
against them. This is the whole of the revolu¬ 
tion. 

We may reason ad infinitum upon the causes of 
the revolution ; but in my mind, there is only one 
dominant and efficient cause—the weakness of 
the King’s character. Had a firm and decided 
prince been in the place of Louis XVI, the re¬ 
volution would not have happened. The whole 
of this monarch’s reign led to it through different 
gradations. There is not a single period, during 
the existence of the first assembly, when the 
King could not have re-established his authority, 
and framed a mixed constitution much stronger 
and more solid than the old parliamentary and 
nobiliary monarchy of France. His weakness, 
his indecision, his half measures and half coun¬ 
sels, and more particularly his want of foresight, 
led to the catastrophe. The subordinate causes 
which concurred, are only the development of the 


OF MIRABEAU. 


281 


first cause. When a prince is weak, his courtiers 
are intrigants; the factious, daring and insolent; 
the people audacious; honest men timid ; the 
most zealous and faithful servants of the state 
discouraged; the services of men of talent re¬ 
jected ; and the best advice rendered nugatory. 

A King with dignity and energy of character 
would have drawn towards him, those who proved 
hostile to him; and such men as Lafayette, the 
Lameths, Mirabeau, and Sieyes, would not have 
even thought of acting as they did, but upon a 
different field of action, would have appeared 
quite different men.* 


* This article requires developement .—In England there are dis¬ 
contented individuals, but no discontented classes. The king, 
nobility, gentry, merchants, manufacturers, farmers, clergy, army 
and navy, are each proud of their profession, of the consideration 
they enjoy, and the prospects attached to their situation in 
life. In France, before the revolution, discontent pervaded all 
classes of society. The farmers and cultivators were tired of the 
inequality of the taxes, and the arbitrary manner in which they 
were often imposed. The merchants were despised by the nobility, 
whilst the smaller nobles were jealous of the higher, who were 
alone presented at court, and in favour. The parliaments, with 
their contested prerogatives, were sometimes powerful, at others 
ill-treated; exposed to exile when they resisted the government, and 


282 


RECOLLECTIONS 


After the forcible union of the orders, the as¬ 
sembly then enjoying the supreme power, pur¬ 
sued a new plan. The faults of this body may 
be traced to nine causes. 

1st. Its heterogeneous composition. The par¬ 
ties were too much irritated against each other, to 
act in concert. They only sought to throw diffi¬ 
culties in each other’s way, and overcome each 
other. The discontented often got decrees passed, 
in the hope that the faults of the assembly would 
throw it into discredit with the public. They en¬ 
deavoured to degrade it, and thus led it to self- 
destruction. 

2nd. The composition of the commons. There 
was too great a number of men without pro¬ 
perty, and advocates who carried democracy to 
the extreme of exaggeration. 

despised by the people, when they yielded to the will of the court. 
The advocates, a numerous and widely-spread class, were kept 
below their pretensions, and their ambition was without hope. 
No place was offered to merit, in a kingdom where venality gave 
up all judicial appointments to fortune. A tie of common interest 
was wanting between the different orders. The provinces had, 
likewise, distinctions which led to rivalry and hatred; there were 
fifty different organizations, each jealous of the other, and forming 
different states, united under the same crown, but enemies from 
their privileges .—Note by Dumont. 


OF MI11ABEAU. 


‘283 


3rd. The bad method of carrying on their pro¬ 
ceedings. Forms are to a popular assembly what 
tactics are to an army. There was as much dif¬ 
ference between the debates of the national as¬ 
sembly, and those of the English parliament, as 
between the scientific sieges and marches of the 
Austrians, and the irregular combats and skir¬ 
mishes of the Croats. 

4th. The constitutional decrees, sanctioned as 
fast as as they were drawn up, and made per¬ 
manent, without regard to the constitution as a 
whole; which rendered the advantages of expe¬ 
rience abortive, and drove the discontented to des¬ 
pair. Had these decrees been only provisional, 
the hope of amending them would have sup¬ 
ported all parties. 

5th. The fear of a counter-revolution. The 
revolutionary party had set out by making power¬ 
ful enemies; and they then fancied they could 
never take precautions enough for their own safety. 
Every thing that had the least appearance of 
royal authority gave umbrage; the King’s power 
seemed never sufficiently destroyed; but, on the 
contrary, always on the point of resuscitation. 
The injury which they had done it, made it an 
an object of dread to them. If the King but 


284 


RECOLLECTIONS 


made himself popular by some step in favour of 
the revolution, the assembly became jealous. 
“ The executive is pretending to be dead!” once ob¬ 
served Lameth. 

6th. The emigration. This was the greatest of all 
faults. The King was weakened by this deser¬ 
tion, and the emigrants, by their intrigues, their 
protestations, and the uneasiness they created, 
brought on an internal reaction. 

7th. The institution of the jacobins and other 
affiliated societies. The whole of the people were 
excited by these societies, which soon became 
powerful rivals of the assembly. A member who 
had no influence with the assembly, had only to 
affect exaggerated democracy, and he became a 
hero among the jacobins. These societies formed 
hot-houses, in which every venemous plant that 
could not be made to grow in the open air, was 
forced to maturity. 

8th. The false measures of the court party. 
The latter began at first by acting against the as¬ 
sembly, in which they afterwards attempted to 
obtain influence; but it was too late. M. Necker 
displayed a prudery in this respect, honourable, 
no doubt, to a private individual, but indicative 
of great ignorance in a statesman. He knew not 


OF M1RABEAU. 


285 


how to form a party, nor would he connect him¬ 
self with Mirabeau, or flatter Sieyes to obtain 
his support. 

9th. The secession, after the King’s return 
from Varennes, of the members of the cdte droit 
who, during the monarch’s captivity, refused to 
vote in the assembly. Their inaction paralyzed 
the moderate revolutionists, and rendered them 
too weak to resist the jacobins. Had these mo¬ 
derates joined Mallouet and the Lameths, they 
might yet have preserved the constitution. 

The causes which overthrew this constitution, 
so solemnly sworn to, and so enthusiastically re¬ 
ceived by the whole nation, may be reduced to 
four. 

1st. The unity of the legislature. If there had 
been two councils or legislative bodies, their 
progress would have been less impetuous; and 
one would have served as a regulator to the 
other. 

2nd. The independence of the legislative as¬ 
sembly. If the King had possessed the power of 
convoking or dissolving it, he could have made 
his share of authority respected. But the mo¬ 
ment the assembly attacked him, he found himself 
without Mie means of resistance. 


286 


RECOLLECTIONS 


3rd. The decree which rendered the mem¬ 
bers of the first assembly ineligible to the second. 
Though this be a secondary cause, it is never¬ 
theless, a very powerful one. The newly elected 
deputies were jealous of the glory won by their 
predecessors, and had no regard for a work in 
which they had not themselves concurred. 

4th. The immutability of the constitutional 
laws. If my opinion be a correct one, ten years 
at least should have been allowed for altering the 
defects in these laws. A legislature whose hands 
were thus tied, found themselves in too 
cramped a situation; and the two parties in the 
assembly soon concurred in a violent revolution 
which burst these absurd bonds. 

This assembly, after enjoying so brilliant an 
existence, had an obscure end. From the mo¬ 
ment of the King’s return, it fell into disrepute, 
and dragged on the remnant of its being, between 
mistrust and contempt. Since it had discovered 
the evils arising from its excesses, and endea¬ 
voured to moderate them, it had lost that as¬ 
cendency which belongs to offensive warfare. 
It seemed as if it would deprive the people of the 
power it had conferred upon them ; and it had 
the appearance of condemning its own work. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


287 


which it was than completing with remorse and 
disgust. Nothing was more brilliant than its be¬ 
ginning, nothing more insignificant than its end. 

The assembly no doubt repented not having 
passed the constitutional laws provisionally, as 
it had been advised to do, so as to be able to 
compare and modify them as a whole, after the 
constitution was completed. By adopting a 
contrary system, an error became irremediable, 
and the effect of a bad law necessitated the 
framing of still worse laws. 

The revision, which was only a methodical 
arrangement and classification, would have been 
the most important act of all, if the assembly 
had reserved a power of amendment over these 
laws. Maturity of judgment, acquired by an 
experience of three years, would then have aided 
in perfecting the work. But from ignorance and 
presumption, the assembly had pronounced it¬ 
self infallible and had made all improvement 
impossible. At each decree, the deputies burnt, 
as it were, the ship which had brought them, and 
thus cut off all means of retreat. The truth is, 
that each constitutional law was a party triumph, 
and they who gained it would not leave their 
adversaries any hope of recovering their loss. 


288 


RECOLLECTIONS 


The result of these forced laws, declared immu¬ 
table, was to bring about a revolution by which, 
in the space of eight months, they were all anni¬ 
hilated. 

There is a fact which I distinctly remember, 
strongly illustrative of this defective mode of 
proceeding. The committee appointed to draw 
up the code of constitutional laws, were in the 
greatest embarrassment to class and arrange them. 
Many fruitless attempts were made and many 
plans proposed and rejected. Every one capable 
of giving advice was consulted, and if I am not 
mistaken, they remained in this difficulty five 
or six weeks, when M. Ramond, Lafayette’s 
friend, furnished the plan of arrangement which 
was adopted. 

I have finished with more patience than I had 
anticipated the account of my connexion with 
Mirabeau, and my recollections of this first epoch 
of the French revolution. This is the most in¬ 
teresting period, and yet I have rendered it very 
little so. I must have made very imperfect ob¬ 
servations, had very little active curiosity, or my 
memory must be very defective. That such a 
multitude of events which occurred before my 
eyes, and the numerous actors with whom I had 


OF MIRABEAU. 


289 


constant communication, should have left so 
slight an impression upon my mind, is a reproach 
which I feel that I deserve. It is the effect of my 
indifference to things when they are passing be¬ 
fore me : and whose importance I never perceive 
till after they are gone by. Whilst they last, 
the most extraordinary appear to me but com¬ 
mon events, and obtain little of my attention. 
Though this confession may serve to convict me 
of stupidity, I cannot otherwise explain the little 
I saw and retained of this great drama. It is 
true that wherever I have lived, 1 have always 
been the last in the house to perceive what was 
going on. If I am required to know any family 
circumstance, it must be mentioned to me ; for 
not only am I not penetrating and cannot guess, 
but I have no taste for confidences, nor have 
secrets any attraction for me. I make these re¬ 
flections with the more vexation because I have 
retained less of the second part of my subject 
upon which I am now about to enter, than of 
the first. My recollections are more scattered 
and the chain of events oftener broken. I have 
lost much of what I once knew ; and what is 
still more irreparable, I did not take advantage 
of the particular circumstances under which I 


u 


290 


RECOLLECTIONS 


was placed to become acquainted with half of 
what I might have known with very little trouble. 
I could never make up my mind to ask about 
any thing that was not first mentioned to me; 
but it is also true that I obtained nothing by 
torture; therefore all I know proceeds from free 
and voluntary testimony. 


OF MIllABE A U. 


291 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

The first who came to England, after the close 
of the assembly, was Potion. I had been too in¬ 
timate with fiim at Paris not to call upon him in 
London. But he was so well received and his 
society so much courted, that the good fortune of 
finding him alone was very rare. It was who 
should have him at their house. He was over¬ 
loaded with invitations and received the most 
flattering attentions. He had come, he said, to 
examine trial by jury in civil and criminal cases. 
He did not, it is true, understand the English lan¬ 
guage, but a barrister well acquainted with the 
French language, offered to accompany him to the 
courts of law. A day was fixed, but Potion did 
not keep his appointment. He had been shew- 

u 2 


292 


RECOLLECTIONS 


ing London to a friend just arrived. He re¬ 
mained only three weeks, and the attentions 
he received from a particular party excited the 
suspicion of the government. 

Some time after, d’Andr6 sought refuge in 

V 

London. The pitiless Brissot had not ceased, 
in his paper called the Patriot , to propagate ca¬ 
lumnies against him. Brissot thought it neces¬ 
sary to ruin or at least drive him away; and 
as he was an active and intelligent man devoted 
to the King, he was accused of participating in 
the civil list. If d’Andre enjoyed his share of 
royal favor, he did not, at all events, make an 
ostentatious display of it. After the closing of 
the assembly, he had the good sense, al¬ 
though a noble, to enter into trade, and open 
a grocer’s shop at Paris. This conduct, so po¬ 
pular and so consonant to the spirit of the con¬ 
stitution, ought to have disarmed Brissot’s 
malice; but Brissot was one of those men in 
whom party spirit prevailed over right and jus¬ 
tice ; or rather he confined right and justice to 
his own party. He had more of the zeal of the 
monk, than any man I ever knew. Had he been 
a capuchin, he would have doated upon his staff 
and his vermin—a dominican, he would have 


OF MIR A BEAU. 


293 


burned heretics—a Roman, he would have proved 
not unworthy of Cato and Regulus. But he 
was a French republican, who had determined 
to overthrow the monarchy; and to accomplish 
this object he hesitated not to calumniate, to per¬ 
secute, and to perish himself upon the scaffold. 

I became acquainted with d’Andr6 at Ver¬ 
sailles ; but I afterwards saw very little of him 
at Paris. On his arrival in London, I called 
upon him, introduced him to several of my 
friends, and had opportunities of knowing him 
well during his two or three years’ residence in 
England. He had a great deal of wit, a quick 
glance, great facility of explanation without 
being an orator, and great clearness of conception 
—all which made him an expert and indus¬ 
trious member of the national assembly, and 
afterwards an excellent merchant. He was af¬ 
fectionate, generous, obliging, easy and simple 
in his manners ; modest, retiring, and timid in 
company, to such a degree, that the man who 
had been four times president of the assembly, 
and had spoken before all France, was agitated 
and nervous at the idea of supporting an opinion 
or keeping up an indifferent conversation before 
three or four individuals. What he wanted was 


294 


RECOLLECTIONS 


an air of dignity and an imposing carriage. A 
vulgar countenance, and an insignificant figure 
told against him in his elevated situation, nor 
had he any thing in his appearance to indicate, at a 
first glance, either his talents and quickness of per¬ 
ception, or his benevolence and goodness of heart. 

I do not remember the exact time when M. de 
Talleyrand came to London. By a decree of the 
national assembly which prohibited, during two 
years, its members from being employed by the 
executive, he could not have an ostensible 
public mission. But he had an equivalent. His 
was a journey of observation, and he was to ne- 
gociate, if he found the English ministers acces¬ 
sible ; that is to say, disposed to consider the 
constitutional King of France in a new light, 
and maintain the neutrality of Great Britain, 
in the event of war which began to appear ine¬ 
vitable on the continent. 

I had formed no intimacy with the Bishop of 
Autun at Paris, but we were acquainted, and he 
had not been long in London before he made 
me such advances as from our relative ranks, 
ought to have come from him, if he were desirous 
of a closer acquaintance. He had particular let¬ 
ters of introduction to Lord Lansdowne ; and his 


OF MIRABEAU. 


295 


distinguished reputation, which opened to him 
the road to the highest political honors, caused 
his society to be courted by such as had not 
already imbibed strong prejudices against all 
who were connected with the French revolution. 

M. de Talleyrand is descended from a family 
of sovereign counts, one of the most ancient 
houses in France. He was the eldest of three 
brothers; but being lame from infancy, he had 
been thought unworthy of figuring in the world, 
and was destined for the church, although he 
possessed not one of the qualifications which, 
in the Roman communion, can render this pro¬ 
fession even tolerable. I have often heard him 
say, that, despised by his parents as a being 
disgraced by nature and fit for nothing, he had 
contracted, from his earliest youth, a sombre 
and taciturn habit. Having been forced to yield 
the rights of primogeniture to a younger brother, 
he had never slept under the same roof with his 
parents. At the seminary he had but few inti¬ 
mate associates; and from his habitual chagrin, 
which rendered him unsociable, he was consi¬ 
dered very proud. Condemned to the eccle¬ 
siastical state against his will, he did not imbibe 
sacerdotal sentiments and opinions, any more 


296 


RECOLLECTIONS 


than Cardinal de Retz and many others. He even 
exceeded the limits of indulgence granted to 
youth and gentle blood ; and his morals were any 
thing but clerical. But he managed to preserve 
appearances, and, whatever were his habits, no 
one knew better when to speak and when to be 
silent. 

I am not sure that he was not somewhat too 
ambitious of producing effect by an air of reserve 
and reflection. He was always at first very cold, 
spoke little, and listened with great attention. 
His features, a little bloated, seemed to indicate 
effeminacy ; but his manly and grave voice 
formed a striking contrast with this expression. 
In society, he was always distant and reserved, 
and never exposed himself to familiarity. The 
English, who entertain the most absurd pre¬ 
judices against the French, were surprized at 
finding in him neither vivacity, familiarity, indis¬ 
cretion, nor national gaiety. A sententious man¬ 
ner, frigid politeness, and an air of observation, 
formed an impenetrable shield around his diplo¬ 
matic character. 

When among his intimate friends he was quite 
a different being. He was particularly fond of 
social conversation, which he usually prolonged 


OF MIRABEAU. 


297 


to a very late hour. Familiar, affectionate, and 
attentive to the means of pleasing, he yielded to 
a species of intellectual epicurism, and became 
amusing that he might be himself amused. He 
was never in a hurry to speak, but selected his 
expressions with much care. The points of his 
wit were so acute, that to appreciate them fully 
required an ear accustomed to hear him speak. 
He is the author of the bon-mot quoted somewhere 
by Champfort, where Rulhi&re said, “ I know not 
why I am called a wicked man, for I never, in the 
whole course of my life, committed but one act 
of wickedness.” The bishop of Autun, who had 
had not previously taken any part in the con¬ 
versation, immediately exclaimed, with his full 
sonorous voice, and significant manner, “ But 
when will this act be at an end ? ” One evening at 
whist, whilst he was in London, a lady of sixty 
was mentioned as just having married a footman. 
Several expressed their surprize at such a choice. 
“ When you are nine,” said the Bishop of Autun, 
“ you do not count honors ! ” This kind of wit 
belonged exclusively to him. He imbibed it from 
the writings of Fontenelle, of whom he was 
always a great admirer. He once related to me 
an abominable act of his colleague, C.. at which I 


298 


RECOLLECTIONS 


indignantly exclaimed, “ The man who would do 
that, is capable of assassination ! ” “ No,” said 

M. de Talleyrand, “ not of assassination, but of 
poisoning! ” His manner of story-telling is pecu¬ 
liarly graceful; and he is a model of good taste 
in conversation. Indolent, voluptuous, born to 
wealth and grandeur, he had yet, during his exile, 
accustomed himself to a life of privation ; and he 
liberally shared with his friends the only resources 
he had left, arising from the sale of the wreck of 
his superb library, which fetched a very low 
price, because, even in London, party-spirit pre¬ 
vented a competition of purchasers. 

Talleyrand did not come to London for nothing. 
He had a long conference with Lord Grenville, of 
which I have read his written account. Its 
object was to point out the advantages which 
England might derive from France having a con¬ 
stitutional King, and to form a close connexion 
between the two courts. For, although the 
British Cabinet appeared determined, in the event 
of war, to preserve a strict neutrality, it was 
extremely reserved towards France, because it 
neither sympathized with the French government, 
nor believed in the stability of the French con¬ 
stitution. This coldness gave great disquietude 


OF MIRABEAU. 


299 


to the cabinet of the Tuileries, and it was Talley¬ 
rand’s object to bring them closer together, even 
if he could not unite them, and thus make sure 
that, at all events, France had nothing to fear 
from England. Lord Grenville was dry and 
laconic; nor did he lend himself, in any way, to 
the furtherance of Talleyrand’s views, notwith¬ 
standing the advantages they held out to England. 
It is well known that Lord Grenville afterwards 
represented the Bishop of Autun as a clever, but 
dangerous man. Mr. Pitt, when very young, 
visited France, and spent some time with the 
Archbishop of Rheims, Talleyrand’s uncle. Here 
the latter became acquainted with him, and these 
young men passed several weeks together in 
friendly and familiar intercourse. But in the 
only interview they had in England, Talleyrand 
thought it Pitt’s place to recall this circum¬ 
stance, and therefore did not mention it. Pitt, who 
was decidedly opposed to the object of Talley¬ 
rand’s mission, took good care not to remember 
the uncle, lest he should be obliged to show some 
civility to the nephew. 

On Talleyrand’s presentation at court the 
King took but little notice of him, and the Queen 
turned her back upon him with marked contempt, 


300 


RECOLLECTIONS 


which she subsequently imputed to his immoral 
character. From that period he was excluded 
from the higher circles of society, as a dangerous 
man, and the agent of a faction,—who could not 
actually be turned out of doors, but whom it was 
improper to receive well; and he could not hope 
for much success in a mission which began under 
such unfavorable auspices. 

In the course of February, 1792, Talleyrand 
was informed by his correspondents at Paris, that 
imprudent changes were about to take place in 
the ministry, and that his friend, Louis de Nar- 
bonne, the minister of war, was in danger of being 
dismissed. He immediately applied for and ob¬ 
tained permission to return to Paris, and deter¬ 
mined to take with him Duroverai, whom I had 
introduced to him, and whose advice he had 
found very useful. Duroverai had much at heart 
the maintenance of a good understanding between 
the two countries, and flattered himself that his 
connexion with Talleyrand might promote that 
object which, he thought, could not but be agree¬ 
able to the English government. He was very 
intimate with Lord Sydney, and some other in¬ 
dividuals connected with the British cabinet; 
and he had taken advantage of this intimacy to 


OF MIRABEAU. 


301 


dissipate the prejudices formed against Talley¬ 
rand. His intervention had therefore been useful 
to both parties, and he fancied himself called 
upon to be the secret mediator between the two 
governments. Talleyrand wanted him at Paris, to 
confirm all that he had to say concerning the gene¬ 
ral feelings in England, to Clavi&re, Brissot, and 
several others who had formed very wrong notions 
on the subject, and who would listen more readily 
to their old friend Duroverai, than to Talleyrand, 
who might be suspected of having some personal 
interest at stake. Buroverai’s opinion was a pass¬ 
port for his—a letter of credit to the chiefs of 
the popular party. It was for these same reasons 
that both Talleyrand and Duroverai urged me to 
accompany them, and in truth I required very 
little pressing. The idea of this visit to Paris, 
which was to last only a fortnight, but exceeded 
six weeks, gave me much pleasure. I had seen 
too much of the first assembly, not to be desirous 
of seeing the second. It was an interesting 
episode in my monotonous existence. If I could 
join my voice to theirs, and dissipate the pre¬ 
judices which we knew our friends to have formed 
against England—if I could make them feel the 
necessity of doing every thing for the preservation 


302 


RECOLLECTIONS 


of peace I should serve the cause of freedom 
and humanity.—Such an object of public interest 
gave fresh excitement to a journey of pleasure, 
and connected me with a great political project. 
I was also intimate with Condorcet, Clavikre, 
Potion, and many others whom it was necessary 
to bring to act in concert. 


OF MIRABEAU, 


303 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Never did I perform a more agreeable journey. 
Talleyrand was fond of having a small party in 
a carriage, because the conversation, of which, 
soit dit en passant , he was the life and soul, was 
friendly and uninterrupted. Hopes, projects and 
pleasing anticipations kept our minds to the 
necessary degree of tension, and we had not 
an instant of langour or indifference. Talley¬ 
rand, among many other singular anecdotes, 
described the manner in which the new clergy 
had been consecrated. Three bishops were ne¬ 
cessary for the ceremony, and his two coad¬ 
jutors had hesitated till the last moment. No¬ 
thing was less canonical than the means he 
employed to secure the co-operation of one of 


304 


RECOLLECTIONS 


them, who wanted to withdraw and thereby pre¬ 
vent the ceremony from taking place.* One 
species of fear overcame another, and the bre¬ 
viary by which they were convinced, was a pis¬ 
tol and a menace of self-destruction. That so 
sacred a ceremony should have been brought 
about in such a manner, did not seem to me quite 
in unison with the principles of religion; but 
when the critical situation of the Bishop of 
Autun is considered, and the danger he would 
have incurred had the weakness of his colleagues 
prevented the consecration of the new clergy, 
some excuse may be made for an act which 
tended to preserve the community from revolt 
and bloodshed. 

As we entered Paris, on the 19th of March, 
a friend of M. de Talleyrand’s stopped our 

* Being told by the Bishop of Lida, that the Bishop of Ba¬ 
bylon was wavering in his resolution, Talleyrand paid the lat¬ 
ter a visit, and with a most serious look, informed him that 
their colleague the Bishop of Lida was on the point of desert¬ 
ing them; that he well knew to what such conduct exposed 
them from the people ; but his mind was made up never to 
suffer himself to be stoned by the mob, and he would certainly 
shoot himself if either of them betrayed him. As he said this, 
he produced a small pistol which he flourished with an air of 
determination. This menace had its due effect .—Note by Dumont . 


OF MIRABEAU. 


305 


carriage to inform us that the court party had 
obtained the dismissal of M. de Narbonne. His 
connexion with the Girondists had led to the 
measure; bat people were surprised that the 
King should still venture upon inflicting this 
kind of disgrace. De Graves had been appointed 
to succeed M. de Narbonne. 

I soon made myself acquainted with what was 
going on. There were three parties in the as¬ 
sembly, each of whom swore by the constitution, 
though all three were dissatisfied with it. The 
true constitutional party, at whose head was 
Vaublanc, were accused of secretly aiming at 
an extension of the royal authority, and the for¬ 
mation of two legislative chambers. This party 
in their turn, imputed to the Girondists, a con¬ 
spiracy against the constitution, and the desire 
of establishing a republic. The Girondists cast 
upon the ultras of la Montague the reproach of 
creating anarchy with a view to throw odium 
upon the two other parties. The parti de la Mon¬ 
tague accused the constitutionalists of having 
sold themselves to the King, and the Giron¬ 
dists of a wish to govern in such a manner as 
to sacrifice the country to the private interests 
of their own faction.—Hatred, mistrust and ex- 


x 


306 


RECOLLECTIONS 


aggeration were carried to a lamentable excess, 
and it is difficult to form an idea of the passions 
which swayed this legislative assembly. The 
moderates, as the first were called, were the 
most sincere and honest; the Girondists pos¬ 
sessed all the talent, knowledge and eloquence ; 
and the parti de la Montague had, in addition to 
their audacity and violence, the support of the 
populace of the faubourgs. 

There were two principal clubs: that of the 
Feuillans who supported the constitution, and 
that of the Jacobins whose principles tended 
to anarchy. The Girondists fluctuated between 
both, and joined either according to circum¬ 
stances ; but they were hostile to the princi¬ 
ples of the Feuillans, whilst they only feared the 
excesses of the jacobins. 

The King was governed by the Feuillans. 
The Lameths, and Barnave, who, with others 
of their friends, were the leaders of this party, 
showed, then, as determined a hostility to the 
majority in the legislative assembly as they had 
formerly done to the court. They thought of 
nothing but turning this majority into ridicule, 
and bringing it into contempt. Such a thing was 
certainly not difficult, but might lead to dread- 


OF MIRABEAU. 


307 


fill acts of violence. They had obtained the 
dismissalofM.de Narbonne as devoted to the 
Girondists, whilst his imputed attachment to 
themselves had rendered him equally odious to 
the Jacobins. 

I will state my recollections of the Girondist 
party with whom, at first, 1 found myself con¬ 
nected from my intimacy with Condorcet, Brissot 
and Clavikre. 

They took me to breakfast-parties at the 
house of a lady named, I think, d’Odun, who 
resided in the Place-Venddme. These parties 
were usually attended by Brissot, Clavikre, Roe- 
derer, Gensonnd, Guadet, Vergniaud, the Du- 
cos, Condorcet, &c., who met at this house 
before they went to the assembly, and here con¬ 
certed their measures. But it may be readily 
conceived that, at these meetings, there was 
more prating and party gossip than business 
done. Brissot was the man of action ; he did 
every thing, and his activity sufficed to meet every 
emergency. 

Their principal object was to overthrow the 
court, by declaiming against the Austrian com¬ 
mittee ; a sort of invisible power against which 
they might bring whatever charges they pleased. 

x 2 


308 


RECOLLECTIONS 


It was well known that the King had secret 
counsels, and the Queen secret conferences; 
that couriers were dispatched to the princes of the 
blood at Vienna and Coblentz ; that all the am¬ 
bassadors to foreign potentates were attached to 
the old regime, and had adhered to the constitution 
against their will; that, in a word, the professed 
opinion of the court was constitutional, but the 
real opinion decidedly hostile to the constitution. 
—The more the history of this period is studied, 
the stronger becomes the certainty that the 
court wore a mask. The King alone showed 
his face, but only in profile; and there is no 
doubt that he would have modified the constitu¬ 
tion, had he been able. This was, however, 
-excusable, as it had already been admitted, by every 
man of reflection, that this constitution could 
never insure the primary object of a good govern¬ 
ment ; I mean, public tranquillity. 

The Girondists, persuaded that there was a 
conspiracy, among several foreign courts, against 
the French people, attempted to get at the secret 
by the appointment of a ministry of their owm 
choice, who could dive to the bottom of the in¬ 
trigue and cause its failure. 

But the ambition of governing was the real 


OF MIKA BEAU. 


309 


object of their manoeuvres; and they felt the 
necessity of power to enable them to encounter 
the jacobins of Robespierre, who were becoming 
formidable.* 

M. de Lessart, the minister for foreign affairs, 
was an honest man, tolerably constitutional, but 
more attached to the old than the new regime . 
The Girondists wanted to get rid of him ; and his 
correspondence with M. de Noailles, ambassador 
at Vienna afforded them the opportunity. The 
diplomatic committee, having called for and ob¬ 
tained copies of this correspondence, were loud 
in their complaints. They accused M. de 
Noailles of having debased the dignity of France, 
by temporizing under the insulting hauteur of 
the Prince of Kaunitz; and M. de Lessart, of 
sanctioning further degradation, and seeming to 
apologize for suffering the constitution to exist, 
instead of assuming a proper tone of dignity, 
and making a strong declaration in its favour. 

M. de Lessart had received instructions from 


* This illustrates the dangerous consequences of political ex¬ 
cesses. A party which has made itself feared, must obtain 
power for its own safety; and is thus reduced to conquer or 
perish .—Note by Dumont. 


310 


RECOLLECTIONS 


the diplomatic committee to demand a categori¬ 
cal explanation of certain expressions used by 
the Prince of Kaunitz. The explanation was 
given, but did not prove satisfactory. It was a 
violent attack upon the jacobins, whose excesses 
were represented as degrading to the King’s 
Majesty, and setting a dangerous example to 
the rest of Europe. This answer, supposed to 
have been concerted between the King and M. 
de Lessart, increased the enemies of the minis¬ 
ters, and its ultimate effect was to raise the 
jacobin faction into notice and power. 

Alarmed at the complaints of the diplomatic 
committee, M. de Lessart thought to lull the storm 
by resigning his office. But Brissot prepared an 
act of impeachment against him, upon which he 
was sent to Orleans for trial by the high national 
court. 

I heard this act, containing seventeen or 
eighteen counts, read in the committee. When 
alone with Brissot and Clavi&re, I made some 
observations on the subject. I said the counts 
were many of them one and the same thing; 
others so vague that it was impossible to an¬ 
swer them; that they were generally artful, 
and calculated to excite undue prejudice and 


OF Mill A BEAU. 


311 


violent animosity against the accused ; that some 
of them were contradictory; and that per¬ 
sonal invective ought to be carefully avoided in 
a criminal accusation, &c. I have forgotten what 
else I said; but if, upon the whole, I was dis¬ 
pleased with this document, I was indignant at 
Brissot’s reply. Laughing at my simplicity, he said 
in a tone of disgusting levity, “ It is a necessary 
party manoeuvre. De Lessart must positively go 
to Orleans, otherwise the King, who is attached 
to him, w r ould replace him in the administration. 
We must steal a march upon the jacobins, and 
this act of impeachment gives us the merit of 
having done that which they would themselves 
do. This is so much taken from them. I know 
that the counts are multiplied without necessity, 
but the object of this is to lengthen the proceed¬ 
ings. Garand de Coulon, who is at the head of 
the high national court, is a nice observer of legal 
forms; he will proceed methodically in the ex¬ 
amination of each separate count, and six months 
will elapse before de Lessart will be able to get 
rid of the affair. I know that he will be ac¬ 
quitted, because there is no evidence against 
him; but we shall have gained our object by 
preventing his return to office.” “ Good God !” 


312 


RECOLLECTIONS 


I exclaimed, confounded at such odious princi¬ 
ples, “ are you so deep in party machiavelism ? 
Are you the man whom I once knew so decided 
an enemy to subterfuge ? Is it Brissot who now 
persecutes an innocent man?....” “But,” 
he replied, disconcerted, “ you are not aware of 
our situation. De Lessart’s administration would 
destroy us, and we must get rid of him at any 
price. It is only a temporary measure. I know 
Garand’s integrity, and de Lessart will come to 
no harm. But we must save the country, and 
we cannot overcome the Austrian cabinet unless 
the minister of foreign affairs be a man on whom 
we can depend. Nevertheless, I will attend to 
your observations, and strike out the terms of in¬ 
vective to which you so properly object.” 

From that time, Brissot fell in my estimation. 
I did not come to a rupture with him, but my 
friendship weakened with my esteem. I had 
formerly known him candid and generous ; he 
was now insiduous and persecuting. If he had 
any qualms of conscience—for Brissot was both 
a moral and a religious man—they were allayed 
by the pretended necessity of saving the state. 
It is in times of political faction that we see illus¬ 
trations of the correctness of the ideas of Hel- 


or MIR A BEAU. 


313 


vetius upon what constitutes virtue: Brissot 
was faithful to his party, but a traitor to integrity. 
He was excited by a feeling of enthusiasm for 
which he was ready to sacrifice his life ; and 
because he felt neither avarice nor ambition 
of office, he fancied himself a pure and vir¬ 
tuous citizen. “ Look at the extreme simpli¬ 
city of my dwelling, and my table worthy of a 
Spartan—inquire into my domestic life, and see 
if you can justly reproach me with dissipation 
or frivolity. For two years I have not been near 
a theatre ! !!” Such was the ground of his confi¬ 
dence. He perceived not that party zeal, love 
of power, hatred, and self-love are quite as 
dangerous in corrupting the human heart, as the 
thirst of riches, the ambition of office or the love 
of pleasure. 

De Lessart’s impeachment produced all the 
effect which the Girondists desired. Their 
influence was brought to light. They were con¬ 
sidered all-powerful, and they really became so. 
The King, terror-struck, threw himself into their 
arms. De Graves, as the oldest member of the 
council, although he had been a member of it 
but six days, was called upon to furnish the 
King with a list of names to complete the new 


314 


RECOLLECTIONS 


council of administration ; but he feared to act 
under any other influence than that of the party 
who could impeach ministers and send them, for 
trial, before the high national court. This party, 
therefore, had the nomination of the new coun¬ 
cillors, and the first they appointed were Du- 
mouriez, Clavikre, Roland, Lacoste, and Duranton. 

I had become slightly acquainted with de Graves 
in London, and I, therefore, paid him a simple visit 
of politeness at the Hotel de la Guerre . He received 
me in the most cordial manner. “ When we used 
to walk together in Kensington Gardens,” said he, 
“ neither you nor I ever supposed that I should, 
one day, be a minister. I consented to take 
office for the sole purpose of acquiring greater 
experience of public affairs and of men. I have no 
ambition,neither have I a thirst for power or riches; 
but I am determined to try what a modest and 
disinterested man can do, who has no other object 
in view than the public good.” I found that, all 
things considered, he dwelt at too great length, 
and with a little silliness, upon his philosophy 
and moderation ; but he was astonished at finding 
himself in such a sphere, and they, who well 
knew him, were equally so. No one was less 
qualified to take a part in a stormy administra- 


OF MIRABEAU. 


315 


tion. He was an honest man, and his heart was 
good ; he was a stranger to all party feeling, but 
was weak, both in body and mind ; he was not 
deficient in acquirements and laboured hard ; but 
he wanted energy of character and a firm will of 
his own. Madame Roland, in her memoirs, treats 
him with the most unjust contempt. She could 
see nothing in him but a bel-esprit of the drawing¬ 
room, a fop in the shape of a minister ; his 
amenity, mildness, and good breeding were so 
many blemishes, at a period requiring a develope- 
ment of the greatest energies. Certain it is that 
he was out of his sphere, and his acceptance of 
office was a great error in judgment. After two 
months of hard labour, he became bewildered; 
and that to such a degree, that in his signatures 
he forgot his own name, and not being aware of 
what he was doing, once signed himself Mayor 
of Paris. I had this fact from himself. 

From my very first conversation with him, 
I regretted not being sufficiently intimate to 
advise his resignation. Accustomed to the man¬ 
ner of Mirabeau, I now found myself at the 
Antipodes. De Graves, having been brought into 
office by the Lameths, knew not how to behave 
towards the Girondists. He was friendly to the 


316 


RECOLLECTIONS 


former and afraid of the latter; and in listening 
to both parties, he tried to draw a diagonal be¬ 
tween them. He suffered himself to be governed 
by Dumouriez, while the latter was in the mi¬ 
nistry ; and from Dumouriez’s well known ac¬ 
tivity, which absorbed every thing, the most for¬ 
tunate circumstance which could occur to him was 
to be taken in tow by that minister. 

I must here mention one of those singular 
circumstances which often designate the secret 
causes of events. I was seriously consulted upon 
the choice of a war minister. Such a thing is 
ridiculous, but it is nevertheless true. The 
Girondists, having filled up the appointments in 
the council, looked upon de Graves with displea¬ 
sure, because he had been brought into office by 
the Feuillans. Brissot and his friends, aware of 
my intimacy with Duchatelet, asked me, in sober 
earnest, whether I thought him capable of filling 
the office of minister of war; what opinion I had 
formed of his talents and principles, and how far I 
considered him trust-worthy. No confidence was 
placed in Condorcet’s opinion on these points, 
because Duchatelet might be deemed almost a 
member of his family. I got off by affecting to 
treat the matter as a joke. I found de Graves 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


317 


too weak, Duchatelet too violent. And in truth, 
the confidence which the former had in me, and 
my friendship for the latter, would have placed 
me in an awkward predicament, had I not averted 
it by the natural idea of laughing at Clavi&re and 
Brissot for consulting me on such a subject. I 
informed Duchatelet, however, that his name had 
been mentioned ; but he begged that I would 
contrive to spare him the necessity of refusing 
the office, because he anticipated war and was 
anxious to go into active service. With superior 
knowledge and talents, he did not yet feel him¬ 
self qualified to be a minister, and he never would 
take an office unsuited to his abilities. How the 
Girondists could reconcile with delicacy the idea 
of placing, among the King’s responsible advisers, 
a man who had signed the first proclamation in 
favour of a republic, is more than I can pretend 
to explain. When I was sure of Duchatelet’s 
refusal, I ventured an observation upon this 
inconsistency. 

I had flattered myself a moment with the hope 
of being able, through the Chevalier de Graves, 
to bring about a treaty of peace between the 
Feuillans and the Girondists. These parties 
mutually accused each other of a desire to over- 


318 


RECOLLECTIONS 


throw the constitution, the former to establish 
two legislative chambers and the latter a republic, 
I became a species of mediator who could create 
no distrust; I carried messages from one party 
to the other, and endeavoured to bring about 
conferences between them; but my plan did not 
succeed, because the Girondists, fearful of the 
hostility of the Jacobins, would not unite them¬ 
selves with the opponents of the latter. 

The Girondists, then masters of the cabinet, 
were pretty well disposed towards the King. I 
wrote a speech for Gensonn6, which was a profes¬ 
sion of faith on behalf of his party. This speech 
was much applauded in the committee. Its object 
was to profess attachment to the constitution, and 
point out the factions by which it was endan¬ 
gered. It was composed with sufficient art to 
prevent strong declarations in favour of royalty, and 
a vigorous denunciation of anarchy, from giving 
offence. Though Gensonne’s cold and feeble 
manner was very different from that of Mirabeau, 
still he was listened to and applauded. The 
King was much pleased ; and indeed, this was 
the last monarchical speech made in the assembly. 
I was well satisfied at having got this public step 
taken by a party always suspected of republican- 


OF MIRABEAIJ. 


319 


ism. But it was like a drop of oil upon the 
tempestuous ocean. 

This speech was strangely mutilated in the 
Moniteur . The conclusion of it had not been well 
received by the parti de la Montague , and the 
assembly had not, therefore, decreed that it should 
be printed. The Girondists already began to fear 
that they had gone too far, and to repent of 
having made concessions to the cause of royalty. 
I used to attend Potion’s public dinners, at the 
Mairie , at which the Girondists were always in 
strong force. At these parties, the conversation 
was always pointed, like a battery, against the 
court. The Coblentz conspiracy, that of the 
Austrian cabinet, and the treachery of the court 
were animadverted upon ; and the moderantism 
of the Feuillans was considered much more 
heinous than the anarchial fury of the jacobins. 
Chabot, of whom Madame Roland relates a trait 
of fanaticism which she was credulous enough to 
believe sincere, used to put on his bonnet-rouge , 
and amuse the company by low buffoonery, in 
ridicule of the King. Many of the guests, whose 
names I forget, were disgustingly coarse and vul¬ 
gar; and I was surprized at seeing Condorcet 


320 


RECOLLECTIONS 


derive pleasure from a society so much beneath 
him. I know nothing, in a popular party, more 
annoying to a well-bred man, than being obliged 
to associate with low and ill-mannered persons. 
Such, however, was the commencement of those 
disgusting manners and that sans-culotism, by 
which France was so degraded. Politeness and 
decorum of behaviour, were aristocratical distinc¬ 
tions, necessary to be trodden under foot, in order 
to attain to equality with the rabble,* 

% 

* Four journals appeared, at that period, against the court, and 
their success was precisely in an inverse ratio to their merit. 
The Chronique de Paris, by Condorcet, written with much art, 
with traits of covered malice and veiled satire, was scarcely known 
except at Paris, and in foreign countries. Brissot’s Patriote, open 
and violent, but pure in style, circulated more in the Cafe's and 
in the provinces. Les Annales Patriotiques , by Mercier and Cara, 
obtained great vogue, from its meanly vulgar style, and was read 
aloud for the edification of all the affiliated clubs. But the Pere 
Duchesne, who dishonoured literature by the most obscene and 
infamous style, was the delight of the multitude. Such was the 
auction of popularity. It is right to show those who embrace this 
career, that the prize is always won by the most impudent. Con¬ 
dorcet, from his superiority of talent, was a mere subaltern of the 
Pere Duchesne.—Note hy Dumont. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


321 


The leaders of the Girondists, were persons of a 
different description. Vergniaud was an indolent 
man, who spoke little, and required to be stimu¬ 
lated ; but when excited, his eloquence was true, 
forcible, penetrating, and sincere. Guadet, who 
had more vivacity, wit, and smoothness, was elo¬ 
quent and ingenious ; always ready to appear in 
the tribune and face his opponents. Brissot was 
always writing, running about, getting up meet" 
ings, and putting his machinery in motion; but 
he had not the gift of oratory. He was deficient 
in dignity, ease, expression, and presence of 
mind. Gensonn^ was of a mild and easy tem¬ 
per. The eloquence of Buzot was penetrating 
and persuasive. De Sers, who was unknown to 
the public, but had great influence in their com¬ 
mittees, was sensible, moderate, and of amiable 
temper. He often made them revoke precipitate 
resolutions, and was the only one who could keep 
Brissot in order. Rcederer was a man of intellect, 
but extremely ignorant. He was so inconsiderate 
and thoughtless, that he could never raise himself 
above a subordinate part, although, in capacity, 
he was superior to the whole of his party. 

Condorcet never spoke in the tribune, and very 
little in conversation. He was nick-named the 
y 


322 


RECOLLECTIONS 


mad ram. He was not a party leader ; for' al¬ 
though his name gave great weight to the party, 
he appeared to me nothing more than a simple 
approver or defender of their measures. His Chro- 
nique de Paris , was a well written paper. The 
court had no greater enemy than he; and his at¬ 
tacks were the more dangerous, because they were 
carried on in a tone of refinement, decorum, and 
calmness, which made a much stronger impres¬ 
sion than the violent insults of Brissot and the 
jacobins. Champfort was brilliant and sarcastic, 
and his caustic bons-mot were in general circula¬ 
tion. His dread of the conspirators at the Tuileries, 
prevented him from sleeping. He always fancied 
himself upon a mine of gunpowder about to ex¬ 
plode. Sieyes had generally the same fears ; and 
during his dreams, saw his head rolling upon the 
ground. 

All, from a sentiment of fear, were working in 
conjunction, at the overthrow of the monarchy; 
they wanted to get rid of a phantom, which kept 
them in a constant agony of alarm. However we 
may ridicule these imaginary terrors, they cer¬ 
tainly brought about the second revolution. The 
minds of men were not in their right tone ; and if 
jealousy imparts an air of reality, to the most 


OF MIRABEAU. 


323 


imperfect appearances, and finds evidence in 
mere suspicion,—party spirit has a similar action 
upon the mind, and, like a fever which inflames 
the brain, and presents livid spectres and deform¬ 
ed monsters to the imagination, it creates sinister 
and appalling visions. 


y 2 


324 


RECOLLECTIONS 


CHAPTER XX. 

I was taken to Roland’s. This personage was 
simple in his manners, grave in his conversation, 
and somewhat pedantic about virtue. But such 
kind of moral ostentation, so strongly ridiculed in 
Necker, does not displease me in a public man. 
Not that I admire an individual who seems 
amazed at his own probity, and, like the Doge 
of Genoa, is in astonishment at finding himself 
existing in an age of corruption; but a minister 
who lays a degree of stress upon morality, seems 
to me calculated to brace up the relaxed morals of 
society. Such affectation does not indeed sit 
well upon every one, but many who appear to 
turn it into ridicule hold it secretly in dread. 

To a very beautiful person, Madame Roland 


OF MIliABEAU. 


325 


united great powers of intellect ; her reputation 
stood very high, and her friends never spoke of 
her but with the most profound repect. In cha¬ 
racter she was a Cornelia, and had she been blessed 
with sons, would have educated them like the 
Gracchi. At her house, I saw several committees 
composed of ministers, and of the leading Giron¬ 
dists. A female appeared rather out of place at 
such meetings; but she took no part in the dis¬ 
cussions. She was generally at her desk writing 
letters, and seemed not to notice what was going 
on,—of which, however, she did not lose a word. 
The simplicity of her dress did not detract from her 
natural grace and elegance, and though her pur¬ 
suits were more adapted to the other sex, she 
adorned them with all the charms of her own. I 
reproach myself with not having personally known 
all her good qualities ; but I had imbibed a pre¬ 
judice against female politicians ; and I found in 
her, besides, too much of that tendency to mis¬ 
trust resulting from ignorance of the world. 

Clavikre and Roland, after seeing the King at the 
council, had abandoned their prejudices, and gave 
him credit for sincerity; but Madame Roland did 
not cease warning them against the illusions of the 
court; because she could not believe in the good 


326 


RECOLLECTIONS 


faith of a prince educated with an opinion that 
he was superior to other men. She maintained 
that both were dupes, and the most satisfactory 
assurances were, in her judgment, only snares. 
Servan, who had a sombre temper, and the most 
splenetic pride, appeared to her energetic and in¬ 
corruptible ; she mistook his passions for ele¬ 
vation of mind, and his hatred of the court for 
republican virtue. Louvet, who had the same 
prejudices, became her hero. He possessed, it is 
true, wit,courage, and vivacity; but I am at a loss 
to conceive how a virtuous woman could ever 
mistake the libertine author of Faublas for a 
severe republican. Madame Roland overlooked 
every fault in those who declaimed against cour¬ 
tiers, and believed that virtue was confined to 
hovels. She exalted very mediocre personages * 
such as Lanthenas and Pache, merely because 
they professed the same opinion. I confess that, 
in my estimation, all this was any thing but 
attractive ; and it prevented me from cultivating 
an intimacy which I should have sought with 
eagerness, had I then known her as well as I did 
after her death. Her personal memoirs are ad¬ 
mirable. They are an imitation of Rousseau’s 
Confessions, and often not unworthy of the 


OF MIRABEAU. 


327 


original. She exposes her innermost thoughts, 
and describes herself with a power and truth not 
to be found in any other work of the same de¬ 
scription. A more extensive knowledge of the 
world was wanting to her intellectual develope- 
ment, and, perhaps, a more intimate acquaintance 
with men of sounder judgment than her* own. 
None of those who visited her were raised above 
vulgar prejudices ; and this encouraged her in a 
disbelief of the possibility of an alliance between 
monarchy and freedom. She looked upon a 
King with the same horror as Mrs. Macauley, 
whom she considered as a being superior to her 
sex. Had Madame Roland been able to commu¬ 
nicate to her party, her own intrepidity and energy 
of mind, royalty would have been overthrown, 
but the jacobins would not have triumphed. 

Madame Roland’s style was forcible and flow¬ 
ing, but she was too fond of writing, and was 
constantly urging her husband to do the same. 
Roland was the minister of writers. I have often 
fancied that factions who pamphletize much, ge¬ 
nerally weaken themselves in public estimation. 
Among such a multitude of writers, many are 
found who harass and irritate their opponents 
without serving their own cause ; and in such 


328 


RECOLLECTIONS 


paper warfare, the party leaders acquire a habit 
of talking instead of acting, of discussing mea¬ 
sures when they ought to be carrying them into 
execution, and of sacrificing at the altar of vulgar 
error, when they ought to soar above prejudice. 
Besides, they who {write to cultivate the opinion 
of the moment, give themselves a very capricious 
master. One good journal would have done more 
real service to the Girondists, than the host of 
scribblers paid by the minister of the interior to 
enlighten, as he said, the nation and fix public 
opinion. 

The greatest reproach that can with justice be 
attached to Madame Roland, is, that she in¬ 
duced 'her husband to publish his confidential 
letter to the King, beginning thus : “ Sir, the 
contents of this letter shall never be known but to 
you and me.”—On his dismissal from the ministry, 
he could not resist the pleasure of a disguised 

revenge, and he published his letter containing 

* 

prophetic menaces, without reflecting perhaps, 
that these very menaces were likely to bring about 
a realization of his predictions, and that by point¬ 
ing out publicly to the King all he had to fear 
from the people, he was suggesting to the latter 
what they ought to do against the King. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


329 


Clavikre was appointed minister of public con¬ 
tributions,* and I had the pleasure of seeing him 
at length attain to that point of elevation he had 
so long coveted, and for which he had struggled 
with such stubborn ambition. He was now at 
the summit of his wishes. During ten long years 
he had toiled to force his way into the government 
of France ; for he had all his life felt an instinctive 
anticipation of one day becoming a minister 
of state. When M. Necker was called to the 
ministry, Clavi&re, then a merchant at Geneva, 
could not help betraying the secret ambition of 
his heart, to some of his intimate friends. In 
1780, he went with Duroverai to Paris, about the 
affairs of the representatives. Passing, one day, 
the hotel of the minister of finance, “ My heart 
tells me,” said he, “that I shall inhabit that hotel 
some day or other.” He laughed himself at a 
prophecy so unlikely ever to be realized, and 
Duroverai thought him a little deranged in in¬ 
tellect. Exiled by the King of France from the 
republic of Geneva, he went to Ireland with a 
view of establishing a Genevese colony there; 
but having failed, he settled at Paris. Now, 


* The same as minister of finance. 


330 


RECOLLECTIONS 


there was very little probability that an individual, 
driven from his native country by the French 
ministry, should ever become a member of that 
ministry ;—but men of ardent minds perceive 
means of success in those things which, to others, 
would seem impossibilities. Clavi&re could write 
upon all financial questions, and was the author 
of almost all Mirabeau’s works on finance. The 
confusion and disorder in this branch of the ad¬ 
ministration shewed him, in the distant horizon, 
an obscure perspective of calamity, which might, 
at no very distant period, render his services 
acceptable. His active imagination had already 
given birth to a grand project for America. 
It consisted in forming a company to purchase a 
large tract of land, and found a colony upon the 
most liberal principles. Brissot went and sur¬ 
veyed the country ; and this voyage, of which 
he published a relation, by no means damped his 
ardour for liberty under republican forms. On 
his return, he found France in a state to induce 
him to renounce this project; for she seemed 
about to receive that freedom which he and Cla- 
vi&re had intended to seek on the other side of the 
Atlantic. When the states-general were on the 
eve of assembling, Clavi&re published his work on 


OF MIRABEAU. 


331 


keeping faith with the public creditor, which made 
him very popular with the holders of public stock. 
During the session of the national assembly, he 
connected himself with Mirabeau, whose influ¬ 
ence he foresaw would be very great, and 
through whom he hoped to overthrow and suc¬ 
ceed M. Necker. But he had made himself 
many enemies among the stock-jobbers and the 
directors of the caisse cTescompte . He was the in¬ 
ventor of assignats and published on this subject 
so great a number of pamphlets, that they would 
form several volumes. Necker did not fall from his 
high eminence, but slid, as it were, down a rapid 
slope; and his departure was as clandestine as 
his return to office had been triumphant. But 
Mirabeau’s power was not sufficient to create a 
minister, and Clavi&re remained in the crowd. 
It was Brissot—that Brissot whom Mirabeau had 
so much contemned—who raised his friend to the 
ministry. The King who knew Clavi&re’s history 
and was conscious of having driven him from his 
country, could not at first see him without dis¬ 
trust. He did not, however, show this feeling, 
and for some time treated Clavikre with very 
little attention ; but this coldness wore off by 
degrees, and at length he seemed to transact 


332 


RECOLLECTIONS 


business with his new minister, not only without 
repugnance but with pleasure. 

At Geneva, Clavi&re had been one of the 
leaders of the popular party. Shrewd and pene¬ 
trating, he obtained the credit of being also cun¬ 
ning and artful. He was a man of superior intel¬ 
lect. Deaf from his youth, and deprived, by 
this infirmity, of the pleasures of society, he had 
sought a compensation in study, and formed his 
education by associating politics and moral phi¬ 
losophy with trade. He was of a timid character 
and devoid of personal courage, and yet he found 
himself, all his life, in situations requiring physical 
intrepidity. It seemed as if his mind and constitu¬ 
tion did not act in conjunction, for he always at¬ 
tacked arbitrary power, though he trembled at 
the danger which he thereby incurred. To him 
might be applied what Madame de Flahault said 
of Sieyes: that he was the most enterprising 
coward in the world. He was fond of being 
placed in difficult and uneasy situations, and yet 
was terrified at the consequences. He used to 
say, that if political disputes in a free state did 
harm, they did still more good, because they 
placed every one in a situation much more agree¬ 
able than the insipidity of repose. He could. 


OF MIKA BEAU. 


333 


when he chose, praise even anarchy, and find 
ingenious sophisms to defend it. His activity 
was prodigious. He rose in the middle of the 
night, wrote fifty pages, took an hour’s repose, 
then followed his private affairs. His style was 
too diffuse; it denoted a want of literature and 
elementary education. In spite of his republic¬ 
anism, he was fond of luxury and display; and 
there was a singular contrast between his love of 
splendour and the severity of his principles ; but 
he never satisfied') this taste for sumptuous living at 
the expense of probity, and in money matters 
he was always irreproachable. His elevation to 
the ministry had an effect upon him which shows 
that his mind was cast in no common mould—he 
became more modest and affable, although he 
had never been haughty or presumptuous. His 
new dignity was perceptible only by an increase 
of simplicity and kindness; and in this he was 
very different from Brissot, whose attainment of 
the great influence he enjoyed, had turned his 
brain, and he no longer spoke but in oracles, and 
could not bear contradiction. 

Claviere found his offices in excellent order. 
They had been formed on the new plan, and 
with the greatest care and trouble, by his prede- 


334 


RECOLLECTIONS 


decessor, Tarb6, upon whom he bestowed such 
encomiums as almost seemed to hold him up to 
public regret. This is not the characteristic of a 
vulgar mind *. 

He possessed all the domestic virtues, and his 
intercourse with his friends became more easy 
and pleasant when he had arrived at the height 
of his ambition. 

He was naturally of a warm temper, and not 
free from a species of bluntness ; but this was 
entirely constitutional and did not originate in 
pride. It was like the anger of a child, soon 
appeased and forgotten. 

He was of opinion, after he became a member 
of the cabinet, and had opportunities of judging, 
that the King's intentions were pure, and he did 
not hesitate to say so. I have heard many dis¬ 
putes upon this point, and I recollect one in par¬ 
ticular, which took place at Roland’s in the pre¬ 
sence of several Girondist deputies. Clavi&re 
was relating that the King had convicted him of 
being unacquainted with a particular clause in 

* Claviere, seeing the immense expense of the services of the 
nobles, who were paid according to their rank and not their 
office, observed, “ This is like getting potatoes cultivated by a 
Dutch florist instead of a common gardener .”—Note by Dumont. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


335 


the constitution ; that he had pulled out his book 
from his pocket, and said with a smile as lie 
showed Clavi^re the passage, “There, M. Cla- 
vifere, you see I am better acquainted with it than 
you.” As Clavi&re continued to speak in praise 
of the King, Brissot became angry, and having 
begun with sarcasms soon came to imputations. 
A very angry discussion took place, and I once 
feared that it would end in a rupture. Clavi&re 
appealed to Roland, who was afraid either to 
confirm or contradict what he said. He feared, 
should he dare to be just towards the King 
whose minister he was, to pass for a weak man 
who had suffered himself to be seduced. I ap¬ 
proached Madame Roland, who was at her desk 
and pretended to be writing. She was pale and 
trembling with agitation. I urged her to come 
forward and put an end to the quarrel. “ Do 
you think I ought ?” said she hesitating; and 
then with much address and suavity of manner, 
she managed to change the conversation, and 
prolong it sufficiently to give the two friends 
time to become calm. 

Madame Clavi&re would fain have become a 
second Madame Roland, but she possessed only 
in vanity that which Madame Roland had in 


336 


RECOLLECTIONS 


talent and courage. In her I saw one of the 
miracles of royal power. When her husband was 
appointed to the ministry, she was in a dying 
state; a nervous fever left scarcely any hopes of 
saving her life ;—but the physician said, “ I can 
now answer for her cure, and in four days, you 
shall see her leave her bed to show off at the hotel 
of public contributions.” This prediction was 
verified, and the joy and novelty of her situation 
operated with better effect than all the remedies 
that medical skill could devise. 

Characters are easily drawn when you have to 
satisfy your readers only; but to the writer who 
submits them to the test of his own recollections, 
and is anxious to give a faithful account of the 
persons whom he best knew, nothing is more 
difficult. The human heart is such a medley of 
good and evil, motives are so hidden, and each 
individual so complicated, that there is always 
something incommunicable. A certain portion 
must escape observation; every thing cannot be 
given an account of, and it is impossible to trans¬ 
mit the whole of what is felt. 

I have now only general recollections ; facts, 
speeches, anecdotes—a thousand singular details 
of this stormy period, have gone from my memory. 


OF MIRABEAU. 


337 


Had I kept a journal of this sojourn at Paris, 
placed as I was in the midst of a political 
party, and intimate with all the ministers, I 
should now have materials for an interesting work. 
I seldom went to the legislative assembly, whose 
members were more incoherent and prejudiced 
than those of the constituant assembly. There 
was no Mirabeau; but each party had distin¬ 
guished speakers. Amongst the Girondists, 
Guadet was noticed for his talent of seizing a 
favorable opportunity, and his powers of sophis¬ 
try ; Gensorme for his acuteness and subtlety; 
Vergniaud, who appeared only on grand occa¬ 
sions, was roused from his habitual indolence, by 
the impassioned workings of his scorching and 
terrible eloquence.* 

* The Girondists may be considered in two points of view. 
As avowed enemies of the King and constitution, they incurred 
the most merited reproaches; as enemies of Robespierre and the 
jacobins, their loss must be deplored, and their destruction in¬ 
volved France in the most dreadful misfortunes. As subjects of a 
monarchy they were highly criminal; as republicans they had 
honourable qualities; and if the historian blames their conduct 
prior to the 10th of August, he will comparatively esteem them 
after that period, and deplore both their elevation and their fall. 
—Note by Dumont. 

z 


RECOLLECTIONS 


338 


CHAPTER XXI. 

I have reserved for this chapter, the most 
important point, the only one indeed belonging 
to history ; I mean the declaration of war against 
Austria. 

The memoirs of Dumouriez upon his own ad¬ 
ministration are generally very correct, and yet 
there are reticences in them. I much regret, 
on this account, not having kept notes. 

Brissot had long been desirous of a rupture 
with Austria. His Cabinet Autrichien excited his 
imagination, and open hostility appeared to him 
preferable to that state of obscurity and intrigue 
which then existed. The court of Vienna scarcely 
condescended any longer to give pretences to its 
manoeuvres, and yet was not determined to go to 
war* f am persuaded that a display of firmness. 


OF MIRABEAU, 339 

moderation and decorum with that court, would 
have averted the storm. The constitution was 
yet a species of unknown, a new being which 
created alarm; tact and address were required 
to make it respected and insure its pardon for 
the crime of innovation; but unfortunately it 
was always made formidable, and the violence 
of the jacobins rendered it odious. Had the Gi¬ 
rondists shewn themselves desirous of conciliating 
the good will of the King, they would have 
disarmed the whole of Europe, rendered the 
emigrants ridiculous and maintained the peace of 
the country. There was so little unison between 
the other powers, and so little disposed were they 
to act in conjunction, that with some slight diplo¬ 
matic manoeuvring France would have had nothing 
to fear. Such was the opinion of the moderate 
party, and I am convinced they were right. 

Brissot and Dumouriez thought otherwise. The 
former was so violent that I once heard him pro¬ 
pose to disguise a body of French soldiers as 
Austrians and make them attack some French 
villages during the night; and that on receiving in¬ 
telligence of this attack, a motion should be 
made in the legislative assembly and the question 
of war carried by a decree of enthusiasm . Had I 


z 2 


340 


RECOLLECTIONS 


not heard him make this proposal, I should not 
have believed it. Dumouriez was a less impe¬ 
tuous and more able statesman. He also wished 
for war ; but he found in the conduct of Austria 
herself, a sufficient justification of hostilities, and 
an imprudent answer from the court of Vienna 
put into his hands a reasonable pretence for their 
commencement. I can affirm that his colleagues 
were not of the same opinion. One day, they 
had dined at the lidtel of the war minister and 
impatient of knowing their determination, I went 
there at six o’clock in the evening. Dumouriez 
was gone, but the table was covered with maps 
of the Netherlands. He had explained to them 
his plan of campaign. They looked serious 
and embarrassed. De Graves had a personal 
dread of the responsibility, and Roland and Cla- 
vikre were neither of them warriors. The former 
gave the preference to negociations which brought 
with them no risk ; the latter who knew the state 
of the finances, was aware that they had neither 
money nor credit, that the taxes and imposts 
were considerably in arrears and their collection 
difficult. Brissot was radiant with joy, and said 
that war alone, by showing who were the friends, 
and who the enemies of the constitution, could 


OF MIRABEAU. 


341 


place liberty on a sure foundation and de¬ 
tect the perfidy of the court. De Graves an¬ 
ticipated danger from the army; he feared the 
desertion of the superior officers, for most of the 
military men of any talent had already emigrated. 
Neither, however, dared oppose Dumouriez, who 
by the ascendency of his energetic mind, obtained 
all tie wished. He saw abundant resources for 
carrying on the war, and represented, in the 
strongest light, the necessity of counteracting the 
plans of the House of Austria and other sovereigns 
of Europe, before they had time to concert the 
means of carrying them into execution. Both 
parties in the council were equally active. I 
remember that in reply to the objection of the 
superior officers deserting, Duchatelet said that 
if so, they would be replaced by the subalterns, 
who were much better qualified. “ There is the 
same difference betweenjdiem,” he said, “ as be¬ 
tween amateurs and artists , and if all the old offi¬ 
cers left us, we should only derive benefit from it. 
There would be more emulation in the army, and we 
should find generals among our private soldiers.” 

From dining often at Clavi&re’s, Roland’s and 
De Graves’, where I had met Dumouriez, I had 
become intimate with him. These dinner parties 


342 


RECOLLECTIONS 


were enlivened by that gay and brilliant wit, which 
the French, when assembled in convivial inter¬ 
course, retain even under the most difficult cir¬ 
cumstances, and which was natural to men satis¬ 
fied with themselves and flattered by their eleva¬ 
tion to the highest offices in the state. The 
present hid the future from their sight; the cares 
of office were for a short time forgotten, and 
each was settled in his hdtel as if he were 
destined to occupy it for ever. Madame Roland, 
in allusion to the magnificence of the apartments, 
observed that in her eyes it was only the splen¬ 
dour of a public inn. Louvet and Dumouriez, 
by their wit, conversation, and talents, were the 
life and delight of these parties. I remember, one 
day, Dumouriez was giving an account of some 
deeds of gallantry of which he was himself the 
hero, when Clavi&re said to him archly, “ Take 
care what you say, General, you are making 
Baptiste smile.” Baptiste was the valet-de-cham - 
bre whom Dumouriez has rendered so famous by 
the mention he makes of him in his memoirs. 
The General relished a joke and made himself 
very merry at the austerity of his colleagues. 
His vivacity was sometimes nearly allied to levi¬ 
ty, and his age and office required a somewhat 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


343 


more serious turn. He found himself connected 
with pedants, and soon became disgusted with 
their republican morality. No confidence ever 
existed between him and his colleagues, but he 
managed to avoid discussion, and a smart repartee 
often put an end to, or prevented disputes. He 
had ready wit, a piercing look, and prompt 
decision. Whilst he was minister, his bon-mots 
were circulated and quoted. He heard all that 
was said in company ; and guessed that which 
he did not hear; by which means he contrived 
to make his presence entertaining to the King, 
whilst that of his heavy colleagues was 
tedious and disgusting. But amid his jests 
and merry conceits in the council, he steadily 
pursued his plan and acquired a decided ascen¬ 
dency. 

One day he begged I would breakfast with him. 
He wanted to read over with me that famous re¬ 
port to the King in Council in which he set forth 
the wrongs of Austria towards France. This pro¬ 
duction, which he had dictated to his secretary in 
great haste and amid constant interruption, was 
very incorrect in style, and he wished me, on that 
account, to go over it with him. In his frequent 
degressions, I perceived his enmity to the Prince 


344 


RECOLLECTIONS 


of Kaunitz, the pleasure he would derive from 
humiliating him, and his antipathy to the Aus¬ 
trian alliance. “ Now,” said he, after we had 
done reading the report, “ the service I want 
you to do for me, is to write a speech for the 
King, for I am not an adept in the style of 
dignity and moderation.” “ Very willingly,” I 
replied, “ if the conclusion be not in favor of 
war; that is to say, if your object be simply to 
make the assembly authorize the King to declare 
war in the event of his being unable to obtain 
full satisfaction from the Emperor.”—“ The con¬ 
clusion,” said Dumouriez, “ can be settled only 
in the council. In the meantime, write the 
speech, point out the reasons of complaint we 
have against Austria, and we will then see about 
the rest.” I mentioned the circumstance to Duro- 
verai; the speech was written and a conclusion 
added to it, of which I have not kept a copy, 
but the substance of which was that the King, 
after exhibiting reasonable grounds of complaint, 
demanded the sanction of the assembly to declare 
war against the King of Bohemia and Hungary, 
unless the latter put an immediate stop to the 
assembling of large bodies of French emigrants 
within his territories, and gave satisfactory ex- 


OF MIRABEAU. 


345 


planations relative to certain official notes, &c. 
When I next saw Dumouriez, he informed me 
that the council had determined upon, not a 
conditional, but a positive and immediate war, 
and that the Low Countries were to be attacked 
before they could be put in a state of defence; 
that the speech I had written for the King, had 
been read to him in council, but he had found it 
too long, and had composed one himself much 
more in unison with the result of their delibera¬ 
tion. 

It is known how the legislative assembly, after 
having prudently deferred their decision in order 
to take time to consider so serious a proposal as the 
declaration of war, on a sudden, at a single even¬ 
ing sitting and after only two or three deputies 
had spoken, voted a decree which plunged France 
and Europe into a gulph of misery. 

It may be said that Brissot and Dumouriez 
were merely the organs of the national will, 
as there were only seven or eight votes 
against war; but it appeared to me very cer¬ 
tain at the time, that if they had adopted the 
opinion in favor of delay, they would have 
been supported by an absolute unanimity. Peo¬ 
ple’s minds were floating in uncertainty; and 
the opinion of every one was influenced by 


346 


RECOLLECTIONS 


the decision of the council. I heard influential 
men, who, the day before, trembled at the idea 
of war, declare it to be absolutely necessary. 
Condorcet disapproved of it, yet he voted for 
it ; so did Clavi&re, and Roland, and de Graves 
and many others under the same feelings. 
The inconsistency between opinion and action, 
which so often occurs when a government decides, 
or when the leaders of a party have taken their 
determination, is inconceivable to those who 
have not closely studied the workings of popu¬ 
lar passions. 

But in making this recital, I had forgotten 
my fellow-travellers, to whom it is now time 
to return. Duroverai fell ill a few days after 
our arrival, and was confined to his room for 
nearly a month. M. de Talleyrand had resumed 
his former mode of life and I saw him but sel¬ 
dom. After Dumouriez had obtained the port¬ 
folio of foreign affairs, the Girondists pressed him 
to appoint an embassy to England and to select, 
as ambassador, a man who would inspire con¬ 
fidence ; for it was expedient, by strengthening 
those ties of amity which had been somewhat 
relaxed by the events of the revolution, to pre¬ 
vent Great-Britain from taking part in a con¬ 
tinental war. Talleyrand appeared the man best 


OF MIRABEAU. 


347 


qualified for the mission. It is true that the 
Girondists were prejudiced against him, but—and 
this was a full compensation—he was quite out 
of favor at court. Unfortunately the law did not 
allow of his accepting an appointment from the 
King, and this proved an obstacle which there was 
some difficulty in overcoming. At length an expe¬ 
dient was hit upon; which was to appoint an 
ambassador who would be satisfied with the honor 
of the title and consent to be governed by Talley¬ 
rand. Chauvelin, who was very young and had 
plunged into the revolution with all the ardour of a 
boy, was proposed by Sieyes. The appointment 
was so far above his expectations that he imme¬ 
diately assented. The Girondists by an excess of 
precaution, wanted to get Duroverai appointed 
counsellor of legation, but there were difficulties 
which prevented the title from being conferred 
upon him. He had the advantage of being well 
acquainted with England, its customs and lan¬ 
guage, and such a choice must naturally prove 
agreeable to the English government, because 
Duroverai, naturalized in Ireland and in the 
receipt of a pension from the Irish government, 
might be considered as more attached to Great 
Britain by a permanent interest than to France 


348 


RECOLLECTIONS 


by a precarious public appointment; and it would 
seem evident that he had accepted such ap¬ 
pointment in the French legation, only in the per¬ 
suasion that the mission was essentially of a 
pacific nature, and that its sole object was to 
strengthen the ties of friendship between the 
two nations. 

It was this naturalisation and this Irish pen¬ 
sion which formed the obstacle against Duro- 
verai’s obtaining the title of counsellor of lega¬ 
tion. The difficulty was insurmountable and 
they were obliged to give him the office with¬ 
out the title. Talleyrand, who had already been 
able to appreciate the benefit of his counsels, 
ardently desired to have him as a coadjutor. In 
order that he might be accredited, at least in¬ 
directly, his name was mentioned in a letter to 
Lord Grenville, as well as in the instructions 
given to Chauvelin. All these arrangements oc¬ 
casioned much delay; and the slowness with 
which the embassy to England seemed to be 
formed, led to complaints out of doors. When, 
at length all appeared terminated, a scruple of 
self-love seized upon Chauvelin. He perceived 
that a great title was conferred upon him, but that 
he was deprived of the real power; and he found 


OF MIRABEAU. 


349 


himself just like a young man sent to a foreign 
court under the care of a couple of tutors. Such 
a thing apppeared to him so humiliating that he 
refused to go. Talleyrand exhausted all his 
powers of persuasion in vain, but Duroverai 
was more successful. He opposed self-love to 
self-love. He represented to Chauvelin, that by 
such an appointment at his age, he was alrea¬ 
dy raised to the highest diplomatic rank, to 
which, in the ordinary course of events, he cer¬ 
tainly would not have attained for many years. 
In the midst of these delays, Dumouriez, who 
began to be out of patience, sent for me. “ I 
do not understand,” said he, “ the conduct of 
your friends. The members of the embassy have 
been appointed this fortnight past, and they do 
not yet think of going. M. de Talleyrand is 
amusing himself—M. Chauvelin is sulky—and 
M. Duroverai is driving a bargain. Do me the 
favour to tell them that if by to-morrow evening 
they are not on the road to England, another 
embassy shall be appointed and shall start the 
day after before noon. This is my ultimatum 
I immediately ran to find the parties, and as they 
were somewhat dispersed, it was several hours 
before I could bring them together. They all 


350 


RECOLLECTIONS 


knew that Dumouriez would keep his word; for 
he had a relative whom he was desirous of ap¬ 
pointing to the English embassy, their nomina¬ 
tion having been a mere friendly concession to 
Clavi&re and the Girondist party. These circum¬ 
stances had their due weight, and the time of 
departure was definitively fixed. 

Two days after, at four o’clock in the morn¬ 
ing, the whole legation left Paris in two 
carriages. Besides the persons already named, 
we had Garat and Reynhart. We alter¬ 
nately changed carriages and had thus the 
pleasure of giving variety to our journey, which 
passed very gaily. Chauvelin was very enter¬ 
taining when his self-love was not in play. What 
a number of curious anecdotes did I hear, and 
how valuable would they have been, if I had taken 
the precaution of collecting them in writing ! 1 

thought only of enjoying the pleasant company 
I was in, the fine weather and the conversation 
of Garat in whom I found more candour, and true 
simplicity, and kindness of heart than I had ex¬ 
pected from one who had spent his whole life 
in the very furnace of literary bel-esprit, which 
is, in general, so unfavourable to the qualities 
of the heart. Literature, so neglected at Paris 


OF MIRABEAU. 


35 L 


for two or three years past, and so foreign to 
the taste of the society of that period, often 
formed the subject of our conversations. Garat 
was not a man of deep learning, but brilliant and 
amiable. He narrated beautifully; and he now 
felt gay and happy, after having been so long 
and so closely confined to his literary labours at 
Paris, amid the lamentable scenes of the revo¬ 
lution. The delight of leisure and fresh air, 
together with the expectation of seeing that Eng¬ 
land which he did not know but admired by an¬ 
ticipation, imparted an elastic and delightful 
brilliancy to his imagination. “ He is a school¬ 
boy going home for the holidays,” said M. de 
Talleyrand. On our arrival at Dover, Garat got 
upon the coach-box and I followed his example. 
Having adjusted his spectacles, he began to ex¬ 
amine every thing with as eager a curiosity as 
if we had just arrived in the moon. The most 
trifling differences affected him to a singular de¬ 
gree. He uttered the most amusing exclamations 
on the small cottages, the little gardens, the 
cleanliness which every where existed, the 
beauty of the children, the modest appearance 
of the country girls, and the clean and decent 
apparel of the inhabitants of the country villages; 


352 


RECOLLECTIONS 


in a word, this appearance of ease and prospe¬ 
rity which formed so strong a contrast with the 
poverty and rags of the peasants of Picardy, 
struck him forcibly. I was proud of doing the 
honors of the country, and I thought I was again 
looking at these things for the first time, so great¬ 
ly did my seeing him admire them, increase 
their impression upon me. “ Ah ! what a pity,” 
said he, “ what a pity, if ever this fine country 
should be revolutionized! When will France 
be as happy as England ?” His enthusiasm 
was fed with every thing and increased sponta¬ 
neously; but it was that kind of enthusiasm 
which evaporates in words and does not become 
concentrated. 

Although I often saw Garat during his resi¬ 
dence in England, and we lived on very familiar 
terms in our circle at the embassy, I never con¬ 
tracted any particular intimacy with him. There 
was something in our characters which pre¬ 
vented them from harmonizing with each other. 
He seemed to me a kind, easy, amiable man, 
full of good and philanthropic intentions. I 
sought him out for the pleasure of his conversa¬ 
tion, and thought no more of him when he was 
gone. He amused but did not interest me. 


OF MIHABEAU. 


353 


He had planned a history of the revolution, and 
he meditated upon this event solely as regarded 
the manner of relating it in his book. “ What 
think you Garat sees in the revolution of the 
10th of August?” said M. de Talleyrand to me ; 
“ only a fine page for his history.” When he 
became an actor in the scenes of the revolution, 
and played the part of minister of justice, in 
which he incurred such general censure, I am 
convinced that his heart bled at the evils with 
which he had associated himself. He wanted 
courage,—was weak and vain ; and he was rash 
enough to undertake an office beyond his strength, 
which act of imprudence and vanity he expiated 
by the remorse of his whole life. If there be 
men who are detested for the ill they commit, 
there are others who ought to be pitied for the 
evil to which they lend themselves. What he 
can never justify, is his defence of the massacres 
of the 2nd of September, and no thoughtlessness 
or levity of character can palliate such an act 
of weakness. It was then thought that the san¬ 
guinary monsters would be softened by making 
them appear less ferocious than they really were; 
that absolution for the past conferred a right 

2 A 


354 


RECOLLECTIONS 


to give them lessons in humanity for the future. 
It was like saying to them, “ give not way to 
the despair of ferocity. We are disposed to 
believe you innocent, in order that you may not 
be led to commit new crimes!” 

If between Garat and me, there existed no 
tendency to friendship, this was not the case 
with Gallois, who had accompanied M. de Tal¬ 
leyrand in his first visit to London and remained 
there during our excursion to Paris. The most 
intimate confidence was established between us, 
and we sought each other’s society for the sole 
pleasure of being together. Gallois is the least 
accessible to vanity of any literary Frenchman 
I ever. knew. He loves study for his own enjoy¬ 
ment, and not as a means of making a figure. 
He considers legislation and political economy as 
sciences which ought to be cultivated for the 
happiness of mankind, and has never appeared 
to look upon them as a road to fortune or fame ; 
at least, fortune and fame are with him but se¬ 
condary objects—mere quiet accessories which 
do not excite the passions. With an affectionate 
heart, and much mildness and elegance of man¬ 
ners, he is a man of strong mind and correct con- 


OF Milt A BE AU. 


355 


duct. He says little in a numerous company, 
but becomes animated in a small circle of friends. 
I had made him acquainted with all my par¬ 
ticular friends, who became his, and preserved 
the same feelings towards him after he had left 
England. Though he had taken no pains to make 
acquaintances, he had gained the esteem of 
many. I afterwards found him the self same 
being at Paris, wise for himself and irreproach¬ 
able for the whole world, after he had safely 
weathered the storms of the revolution. 

This embassy, whose sole object was to obtain 
a settled and permanent peace with England, was 
very coldly received by the court, and almost 
with insult by the public. Chauvelin was li¬ 
belled in several papers and accused of having 
worn the disguise of a poissarde in the famous 
affair at Versailles of the 6th of October. A cir¬ 
cumstance which, at first, did him a great deal 
of harm, was the ill-judged zeal of Perry of the 
Morning Chronicle, who thought he was doing 
the French embassy a service by pompously enu¬ 
merating the individuals of whom it was com¬ 
posed. 

He saw, in the selection of its members, an ex¬ 
traordinary mark of attention on the part of the 
2 a 2 


356 


RECOLLECTIONS 


French government. First there was M. Chau- 
velin, then M. de Talleyrand, then M. Duro- 
verai, next M. Garat a distinguished man of let¬ 
ters, M. Gallois, remarkable for talents and 
knowledge, M. Reynhart secretary of legation, 
and M. de Talleyrand’s grand-vicar; and all 
these distinguished individuals formed a legation 
of writers and literary men such as was never 
before seen. The simple truth is, that M. de 
Talleyrand, fond of the society of men of talent, 
had contrived to get two or three to accompany 
him to England; and in procuring the appoint¬ 
ments of Garat and Gallois, he had thought 
only of himself, and had no public object in 
view. But the number and talents of the per¬ 
sons whose nomination Perry mentioned as a 
compliment paid to England, raised the suspicion 
and mistrust of a great portion of the public. It 
was imagined that the real object of all this was 
the propagation of revolutionary systems and 
opinions, and the members of this embassy were 
looked upon as missionaries come to make con¬ 
verts. Chauvelin had soon occasion to perceive 
the coolness of the court. One day, Pitt placed 
himself between the King and the French am¬ 
bassador, and turned his back upon the latter in 


OF MI11ABEAU. 


357 


the most pointed manner. Chauvelin annoyed 
at this, moved so as to turn wilfully upon Pitt’s 
toes, and pressed so hard as to force the English 
minister to draw further back. Romilly on being 
consulted about the numerous injurious para¬ 
graphs which appeared in the ministerial jour¬ 
nals under all the forms which malignity could 
invent when they, who direct the politics of the 
paper, point out some object to hunt down and 
persecute, gave them the draft of a strong denial 
of every calumnious accusation, with a challenge 
to prove any of the revolutionary acts or inten¬ 
tions imputed to them, and a threat to prosecute 
the authors of the libels. But Lord L.... ad¬ 
vised them to despise these attacks, which would 
only be consolidated and rendered of more im¬ 
portance by answering them. One imprudence 
which they committed, was to meet the advances 
of the opposition. They visited Mr. Fox and Mr. 
Sheridan, soon saw no other society than these 
eminent men and their friends, and this proved a 
bar of separation between them and the minis¬ 
terial party. 

I remember that, soon after their arrival in 
London, during the fine weather, when Rane- 


35 B 


RECOLLECTIONS 


lagh was in high fashion and much frequented, 

I dined one day at Chauvelin’s, when it was pro¬ 
posed to finish the evening at this place of 
fashionable resort. It is a large round hall sur¬ 
rounded with open closets, like the boxes of a thea¬ 
tre, with an orchestra in the centre. The company 
walk all round, and enter the closets or boxes 
for refreshments. On our arrival, a buzz of voices 
repeated, “ there is the French embassy.” 
Looks of curiosity, certainly not of a benevolent 
kind, were directed from all sides upon our bat¬ 
talion, consisting of eight or ten individuals; and 
we soon found that we should have the place en¬ 
tirely to ourselves, for all withdrew on our ap¬ 
proach, as if they feared contagion even in the at¬ 
mosphere which surrounded us. Our battalion 
became the more remarkable because it stood 
in a vacuum which it increased as it moved for¬ 
ward. One or two bold individuals came and 
spoke to M. Chauvelin and M. de Talleyrand. 
A moment after, we saw a man shunned from 
another cause ; this was the Duke of Orleans, 
whom every one seemed to avoid with the most 
sedulous care. Annoyed and disgusted at being 
the object of this unpleasant attention, we se- 


OF M1RABEAU. 


359 


parated for a short time, and I got into the 
crowd, where I heard several persons giving, in 
their own way, an account of this French embas¬ 
sy. We withdrew shortly after, M. de Talley¬ 
rand no way moved at what had occurred, but 
M. Chauvelin much affected. 


360 


RECOLLECTIONS 


CHAPTER XXII. 

It is not my intention to give an account of 
the diplomatic occurrences connected with M. 
Chauvelin’s mission. .All that I know concerning 
them is the result of confidential communication ; 
and were I even base enough to betray such con¬ 
fidence, I should find it difficult to give a con¬ 
nected narrative. But I can positively state that 
the nature of the mission was wholly pacific; 
its object was to draw the ties of amity closer 
betwixt the two nations. Such were the instruc¬ 
tions given to the members of the embassy, and 
great injustice was done to the latter in imputing 
to them secret views and base intrigues with the 
malcontents. I lived so constantly with Duroverai, 
(lined so often with M. de Talleyrand and M. 


OF MIRA BEAU. 


301 


Chauvelin, and was so confidentially intimate 
with both, that nothing could have been done 
without my perceiving it, and I have the most 
positive certainty that nothing which could give 
the least ground of alarm was going on in secret. 
The embassy were much alarmed at the reserve 
of the English ministers and the formal coldness 
of the cabinet. All that my memory has retained 
of this period is the recollection of a delightful 
society, some very pleasant dinner parties, and 
the happiness of finding myself in France and 
England at the same time—that is to say, enjoy¬ 
ing alternately a select party of either nation. 

Garat was not entirely idle in England ; he 
wrote a refutation of a manifesto against France 
by the government of the Low Countries. In 
this work of Garat’s, the French revolution was 
justified and the violence by which it was attended 
lamented as a deplorable misfortune. 

In France, meanwhile, the animosity of the 
different factions against the court became more 
virulent every day ; the Girondists made their 
attacks insidiously, the Jacobins by open force. 
The first events of the war with Austria were un¬ 
fortunate, and this was imputed to the treachery of 


362 


RECOLLECTIONS 


the executive power. On the 13th of June, Roland, 
Clavikre and Servan were dismissed from office; 
on the 20th, the invasion of the Tuileries 
took place, and the King was threatened and 
insulted in his palace ; and twenty days after, 
namely, on the 10th of August, this same palace 
was stormed by the Marseillais. 

This invasion of the 10th of August was another 
of those striking occasions on which the King, by 
suddenly changing his character and assuming 
firmness, might have recovered his throne. The 
mass of the French people were weary of the 
excesses of the Jacobins, and the outrage of the 
20th of June roused the general indignation. 
Had he acted with vigour, used force against 
force, and then taken advantage of the first 
moments of the victory he must have gained, to 
treat the Jacobins and Girondists as enemies— 
for they, having, in a thousand instances violated 
the constitution could no longer have appealed 
to it in their defence ;—had he ordered the clubs of 
the Jacobins and Cordeliers to be shut up, dissolved 
the assembly, and seized upon the factious ; that 
day had restored his authority. But this weak 
prince, unmindful that the safety of his kingdom 


OF MIliABEAU. 


363 


depended upon the preservation of his own au¬ 
thority, chose rather to expose himself to certain 
death than give orders for his defence. 

When this event took place, M. de Talleyrand 
was at Paris. He had quitted London some 
weeks previous, and had asked me to accompany 
him ; but this time I was prudent enough to 
decline a journey which, being without a personal 
object, would have given me the appearance of 
dabbling in politics and state intrigue ; for I was 
so well known that I could no longer indulge 
in my curiosity and roving propensities without 
giving rise to such inferences. I had good reason 
to congratulate myself upon this act of prudence 
when, in my peaceful abode, I reflected upon the 
horrors in the midst of which I should have found 
myself, and the unfavourable surmises to which 
my conduct might have led, among my friends 
in England. M. de Talleyrand required all 
his dexterity and means of persuasion to ob¬ 
tain from Danton a passport to return to Lon¬ 
don, after the events of the 10th of August. 
Had he remained a few days longer at Paris, he 
would have been comprised in the destruction of 
the constitutionalists, who, in an almost incredibly 


364 


RECOLLECTION S 


short space of time, fell under the axe of the guil¬ 
lotine. 

In the month of November of the same year, 
1792, I was called to Paris by an object of duty. 
This was no idle, wandering journey, but a ser¬ 
vice demanded by the magistrates of Geneva ; 
and I undertook it without hesitation. 

Savoy was threatened with an invasion by 
France, and a French army was on the frontiers 
of that state. Geneva had taken the precaution, 
adopted in time of war, of applying to the canton 
of Berne, as was the custom, for a reinforcement 
of troops. The Bernese had sent several regi¬ 
ments to strengthen the weak garrison of Geneva, 
and enable it to support the double fatigue of 
service necessary in a fortified city surrounded 
by the troops of foreign belligerent powers. The 
government of France, then conducted by Ro¬ 
land, Clavi&re, Servan and a committee of the 
legislative assembly, had affected to take the 
alarm at his call for Swiss troops. They pre¬ 
tended to perceive hostility to France in a pre¬ 
caution only intended by Geneva to make its 
neutrality respected ; and, without considering 
that the Swiss were themselves allies of France, 


OF MIRABEAU. 


365 


and that their co-operating in the protection of 
Geneva, could not therefore tend to any act of 
hostility, became loud in their complaints, and 
instructed their general, M. de Montesquiou, to 
call upon the Genevese magistrates to send back 
these troops, and, in the event of a refusal, to lay 
siege to Geneva. In the first moment of alarm, 
the Syndics of Geneva wrote to M. Tron- 
chin, the accredited agent of the republic, to 
engage Duroverai and me to proceed to Paris, 
and endeavour to arrange matters with the French 
ministry, with whom our connection was known. 
Duroverai being obliged to attend to his duties at 
the French embassy, I determined to go to Paris 
alone, but had the prudence to take precautions 
against improper surmises, by making the English 
government acquainted with the object of my 
journey. M. Tronchin laid the letter from the 
Syndics before Lord Grenville, and easily ob¬ 
tained for me the permission I requested. He 
likewise demanded that a passport might be de¬ 
livered to me, which would contribute to my 
safety in France; but not having been naturalized 
in England, this passport was refused. 

One of my fellow travellers in the stage coach 
from London, was a quaker, whose name I have 


366 


RECOLLECTIONS 


forgotten. Though of a more communicative 
temper than most of his brethren, he did not 
make me acquainted with the object of his journey 
to Paris. I discovered it at the municipality of 
Calais. We went there together, and he pulled out 
a passport, which had been sent to him in Ireland, 
from France. It was in Roland’s own hand 
writing, and contained a particular injunction to 
aid and assist the bearer, whose journey to 
France was connected with an object of bene¬ 
ficence and humanity. The quaker then hinted 
to me that he came in the name of his brethren, 
who had deemed the juncture favourable for 
making proselytes in France. I know not whe¬ 
ther a quaker can diverge from truth, and did so 
in the present instance, in order to conceal some 
other political object which he dared not men¬ 
tion ; but I knew Roland’s enthusiasm sufficiently 
well, to think that he might have deemed repub¬ 
lican France worthy of adopting quaker simplicity, 
and I was also aware that Brissot was in raptures 
at a doctrine which represented true equality and 
all the primitive virtues. 

On my arrival at Paris, I found that Genevese af¬ 
fairs bore rather a favourable aspect. Montesquiou 
felt ashamed of attacking a free city, which 


OF MI IIA BEAU. 


367 


had only used its right of self-preservation; and 
in his correspondence with the ministers, had 
defended the republic, although he publicly used 
towards it threats which he did not mean to carry 
into execution. He had inspired the govern¬ 
ment of Geneva with confidence, and was himself 
their counsel. The negociations were open, and 
conducted with much candour on both sides. He 
represented to the magistrates the necessity of 
sending away the Swiss troops as a first conces¬ 
sion, without which he could do nothing for them ; 
but, at the same time, he would give them every 
possible guarantee, establish their independence 
in the strongest manner, and publicly admit that 
there was nothing in their conduct hostile to 
France. The first treaty to which this led 
them, was not ratified at Paris, because it 
appeared too favourable to the republic; and 
Montesquiou had been instructed to make the 
most unreasonable demands. When I arrived at 
Paris, a second treaty was then waiting for ratifi¬ 
cation. Claviere, who had incurred the bit¬ 
terest reproaches, as the supposed author of these 
measures against his native country, seemed anx¬ 
ious to clear himself to me. He told me that he 
had not concurred in the decree hostile to the 


368 


RECOLLECTIONS 


Syndics of Geneva, as on the day it was deter¬ 
mined upon, he had been prevented by ill health 
from attending the council. I seemed willingly 
to listen to his excuses, and observed that a fa¬ 
vourable opportunity now presented itself, of 
sheltering himself from all future reproach, by 
obtaining a ratification of the treaty. I also suc¬ 
ceeded in bringing Brissot to the same way of 
thinking, although he had, in his Patriote frannals, 
been very violent against the Lilliputian republic, 
as he termed it. I represented to Vergniaud, 
Guadet, Gensonn^, and Condorcet, the indigna¬ 
tion felt in England at this attack made by re¬ 
publicans upon the weakest of republics ; and one 
which had done the greatest honour to freedom. 
Others also contributed to soften the ministers 
and their party, and some consideration was 
still shown towards the Swiss. A few days 
after, the treaty was proposed at the legislative 
assembly, ratified without a dissenting voice, 
and the independence of the Genevese republic 
acknowledged by the most formal act. 

The person who, during this crisis, rendered 
the greatest services to Geneva, was M. Reybaz, 
who had succeeded M. Tronchin as minister of 
the republic. Every thing in the council and the 


OF fyHRABEAU. 


369 


convention, was done so abruptly, that measures 
were adopted and decrees passed, before he was 
aware of their being in contemplation; and it 
was much more difficult to repair an evil than it 
would have been to anticipate it. His connexion 
with Clavikre gave him some influence, but the 
Girondists fancied that he did not display a pro¬ 
per zeal in the cause of freedom, because, when 
he voted with them, he had often blamed their 
measures. On the present occasion, he showed 
great activity in finding out what passed in the 
diplomatic committee, in forming a party there, 
and in getting votes. I regret having forgotten, 
or rather not sufficiently recollecting many par¬ 
ticulars which I had from him, and which suffi¬ 
ciently depicted the character, ignorance, and 
wicked folly of the convention. He informed me 
that the true secret of the affectation of anger 
towards Geneva, displayed by the council, was 
their wanting a pretence for seizing the city, and 
arsenal, in order to have a strong hold, which 
they could use against Savoy, and against the 
Swiss, whom they wished to intimidate. The 
prudent delays of Montesquiou, had counteracted 
the perfidious designs of these ministers, who 
wanted to obtain possession of Geneva, without 
2 B 


370 


RECOLLECTIONS 


the disgrace of having ordered such a measure, 
and who could have wished that their general had 
taken it by a coup-de-main, even though they 
should disavow his act, and dismiss him from 
their service. But they would have retained 
their conquest. Such was the nature of the acts 
of vigour, which the French government of that 
period expected from its generals. There was at 
Geneva, a party of discontented citizens who in¬ 
veighed bitterly against the aristocracy and the 
government,and Montesquiou would only have had 
to second this party, present himself as the sup¬ 
porter of the true democrats ; and as an excuse to 
his government for this act, he had only to write a 
flaming letter to state, that as the avenger of freedom, 
he had destroyed a nest of aristocrats at Geneva. 

During the negociation, the Genevese council 
sent to Paris a citizen named Gasc, formerly very 
intimate with Clavikre, and who, as a warm 
admirer of the French revolution, could insinuate 
himself more easily into the good graces of the 
members of the French government. Gasc was 
a man of talent; a most expert arguer, with 
great sang-froid . His heart was never troubled 
by the operations of his head. I was at a loss to 
conceive how this precise mathematician, so devoid 


OF MIRABEAU. 


371 


of warmth and sensibility, could have imbibed so 
ardent an enthusiasm in favour of French repu¬ 
blicanism. Clavifere related to me a scene at his 
house, in which Gasc proved himself a first-rate 
actor. His being an agent of the Genevese 
government was sufficient to stamp him as an 
aristocrat, and the success of his mission required 
his getting rid of such an imputation. One day 
at a grand dinner given by Clavi&re to the Giron¬ 
dists, Lebrun the poet recited an ode to liberty 
with such lyric transport, that he produced a 
similar excitement in his auditors, and each 
strophe was received with cries of admiration. 
Gasc, upon whose mind the finest poetry had no 
effect, and who like Terrasson would have said— 
what does that prove ?—most probably felt the 
greatest contempt for this enthusiasm. His 
phlegmatic calmness was soon remarked, and it 
gave the company a very unfavorable opinion of 
him. He remained silent and motionless in his 
arm-chair until, at the conclusion of the poem, he 
seemed suddenly roused from his apathy, and as 
if carried away by a feeling he could not control, 
threw himself into the poet’s arms and, his 
voice trembling with emotion and tears in his 
eyes, appeared a thousand times more affected 

2 b 2 


372 


RECOLLECTIONS 


than any one present. The company were struck 
with astonishment at a sensibility compared to 
which, their own transports seemed but as a 
transient ebullition of the moment. On leaving 
Clavi&re’s hospitable board, the Girondists pre¬ 
sent, who were members of the diplomatic com¬ 
mittee, took him with them, listened to him with 
the greatest confidence, and disposed other mem¬ 
bers in his favour. He knew how to combine 
the interests of the lesser republic with those of 
the greater; and they were so struck with the 
wisdom of his conversation, and the perspicuity 
of his reasoning, that after he had obtained his 
audience, they invited him to remain and discuss 
the affairs of Europe with them. This occurred 
to him three or four days following; nor was it 
the first instance I saw in France of such com¬ 
municative disposition, such exuberant confi¬ 
dence. I recollect, during the existence of the 
first assembly, having, one day, attended the 
constitution-committee with Duroverai—I mean 
the committee who drew up the constitutional 
laws for the assembly;—after having explained 
our business which related to the guarantee of 
France for the execution of the Genevese treaty, 
the members politely begged that we would re- 


OF WIRABEAU. 


373 


main and discuss with them the subject of their 
labours, observing that the presence of enlight¬ 
ened men was always an advantage to them, and 
that there were no secrets in their deliberations. 

The business which called me to Paris being 
settled, I prepared to return to London, and 
dining one day with Clavikre, I informed him of 
my intended departure. Having, after dinner 
remained talking to Gensonn£, a member of the 
diplomatic committee, the latter asked me if I 
could give him any information concerning one 
Grenus, a native of Geneva, who had come to 
Paris upon a mission diametrically opposed to 
mine, and had several times attended the com¬ 
mittee to demand, in the name of a numerous 
party of Genevese, a union of Geneva with 
France. “ You think,” said he, “ that the 
treaty just ratified is conclusive, but I must warn 
you that there is a counter-plot going on, and 
our government does not yet despair of incor¬ 
porating your republic with that of France. 
Grenus has pointed out the mode of effecting it. 
There will be a rising of the natives who call 
themselves dgalitiens , or tiers-etat. These will 
be assisted by the peasantry who are more 


374 


RECOLLECTIONS 


numerous than the citizens. The latter will, no 
doubt, defend the magistrates; and during the 
conflict, the natives will claim the assistance of 
the French troops, who will appear at the gates 
of the city as if for the purpose of preventing 
bloodshed. The gates will then be opened to 
the French, who will immediately make them¬ 
selves masters of the city, and proclaim the 
union of Geneva with France. Such,” continued 
Gensonn6, is the plan which Grenus has pro¬ 
posed. It has been neither refused nor accepted. 
For my own part, I prefer that your republic 
should remain as it is; for I do not know what 
we should gain by this union, and I can well 
understand what you would lose. Do not betray 
my name, but make use of this secret, which I 
thought it my duty to reveal to you, as you deem 
most advisable for the interests of your country. 
We have hitherto considered Grenus as one of 
those adventurers with whom it is dangerous to 
make arrangements; but he will be allowed to 
act, and if he succeeds and we once become 
masters of Geneva, we shall affect to think that 
we were called thither by the whole body of 
the citizens, and you may easily imagine that no 


OF MIHABEAU. 


375 


attention will be paid to the claims of such a 
man.” 

In possession of this alarming secret, I went 
to M. Reybaz to concert with him on the means 
of averting the threatened evil. The first step to 
be taken was to acquaint the government of Ge¬ 
neva with the plot of Grenus and his associates. 
It appeared to M. Reybaz expedient that I should 
proceed thither. I had formerly been popular with 
the natives ; and had rendered them services more 
than adequate to counterbalance, at least, the 
influence of Grenus over the honest and well-in¬ 
tentioned members of this class of the people. 

Having determined upon my immediate de¬ 
parture, I called upon M. Gasc to whom I com¬ 
municated my intention and secret. He told me 
that as he left the diplomatic committee, he 
saw Grenus enter it, and that he suspected 
this individual of having come to Paris for the 
purpose of traversing his negociation. — Grenus, 
who had an estate in the country of Gex and was 
mayor of Great Sacconex, about a league from 
Geneva, had an evident interest in bringing his 
country under French domination. He could not 
fail by such a service to obtain the confidence of 


376 


RECOLLECTIONS 


the French government, and with it the mayoralty 
of the city he had delivered into their hands. 
But his true motive was to humiliate the Gene¬ 
vese, particularly the upper classes, of which he 
was a member by birth, but from which his 
character and conduct had alienated him. In 
politics as in religion, no enemies are more bitter 
than apostates. Grenus was the demagogue of 
the rabble, and derived continual amusement from 
the alarm which he inflicted upon the Genevese 
government, and the aristocrats, among whom were 
his own cordially hated relations. He took no 
pains to conceal the atrocity of his mind, no less 
intense from its being combined with pleasantry. 
A sardonic laugh played upon his features each 
time he succeeded in causing an insurrection 
among the peasants, and the days of alarm and 
terror in the republic were to him days of rejoic¬ 
ing. Surrounded by his low and crapulous asso¬ 
ciates, he exulted in the disorders he caused, 
and never failed to attend the great council of the 
two hundred, of which he was a member, to 
enjoy the fright attendant upon the tumult he 
had raised. Gasc, better acquainted than I, with 
this Crispin-Catalina , had no difficulty in believ- 


OF MIRABEAU. 


377 


ing Gensonn^’s communication, and thought, with 
M. Reybaz, that my immediate presence at 
Geneva was necessary to counteract the influence 
of Grenus over the natives, and induce the ma¬ 
gistrates and citizens to adopt such measures as 
might be deemed most expedient under existing 
circumstances. 


THE END. 




, •, > r:I 



APPENDIX. 


No. I. 

ADDRESS TO THE KING FOR THE REMOVAL OF THE TROOPS. 

Sir, 

By calling upon the assembly to testify their confidence in 
your Majesty, you have anticipated their most anxious desire. 

We are come. Sir, with respectful humility to acquaint Your 
Majesty, with the alarms which agitate us. They regard not 
ourselves. Sir;—but had we even the weakness to fear on our own 
account, we are certain that your royal indulgence would still 
induce you to encourage and console us; and further, that in 
blaming us for doubting your good intentions, you would, at the 
same time, listen to our complaints, remove their cause, and place 
the national assembly upon a sure and unequivocal footing. 

Sir, we implore not your protection ;—it would be an offence 



380 


APPENDIX. 


to your justice. We have become a prey to fears which—and we 
say it with confidence—have their source in the purest patriotism, 
the interests of our constituents, the public tranquillity, and the 
happiness of a beloved monarch, who, in smoothing for us the 
path to felicity, deserves himself to walk in it without obstacle. 

The impulses of your own heart, Sir, form the safeguard of your 
people; and when we perceive troops approaching on all sides 
—when we see camps formed around us, and the metropolis 
surrounded by soldiers, we exclaim in astonishment:—Does our 
sovereign suspect the fidelity of his people ? If so, would he not 
make known his doubts to us their representatives ? What mean 
these menacing preparatives ? Where are the enemies of the state 
and King—where, the rebels and leaguers against whom this 
formidable array is brought ?.... The unanimous voice of the 
metropolis and the whole kingdom, answers :— We cherish our 
King, and we bless heaven for the gift of his affection ! 

Sir ! Your Majesty’s confidence has been imposed upon, under 
pretence of the public weal. 

If they who counselled our King, had confidence enough in their 
principles to expose them before us,—it would lead to the most 
noble manifestation of truth. 

The state has nothing to fear but from false principles, which lay 
siege even to the throne itself, and respect not the confidence of the 
purest and most virtuous of princes. And by what base means. 
Sir, have you been brought to doubt the love and affection of your 
subjects ? Have you been prodigal of their blood ? Are you cruel, 
or implacable ? Have you prostituted the name of justice ? Do 
the people impute to you their misfortunes ?—is your name ever 
associated with their calamities ? Have you been told that the 
people are impatient of your yoke,—that they are tired of the 
sceptre of the Bourbons ?—No ! No! You cannot have been told 


APPENDIX. 


381 


so;—calumny is not so absurd—she colours her atrocities with a 
semblance of probability. 

Your Majesty has been able to perceive, of late, the greatness 
of your influence over your faithful subjects. Subordination has 
been restored in your lately agitated metropolis;—the prisoners, 
liberated by the multitude, have voluntarily resumed their chains; 
—and public order which, had force been employed, might have 
deluged the city with blood, was restored by a single word of your 
mouth. But that word was one of peace :—it was the expression 
of your own sentiments, which it is the glory of your subjects never 
to resist. How noble is the exercise of such influence,—which 
was that of Louis IX, Louis XII, and Henry IV, and is the only 
influence worthy of Your Majesty. 

We should deceive you, Sir, did we not add, as the present state 
of the kingdom imperiously calls upon us to do, that this kind of 
ascendency is now the only one possible to be exercised in France. 
The French people will never suffer the best of Kings to be de¬ 
ceived, and, for sinister purposes, advised to deviate from the 
noble line of conduct which he himself has traced. You have 
called upon us, Sir, to concur with your Majesty in framing our 
constitution, and thereby operating the regeneration of the king¬ 
dom ; and the national assembly now approach your throne 
solemnly to declare that your wishes shall be accomplished, and 
the promises you have held out to the nation fulfilled—nor shall 
snares, difficulties, or terrors, delay our progress or intimidate 
our courage. 

Our enemies may affect to say: “ But what danger is there in 
having troops ?.. What mean these complaints, when the deputies 
declare they are not accessible to discouragement ?”.... 

The danger, Sir, is pressing, universal, and beyond all the cal¬ 
culations of human prudence. 


382 


APPENDIX. 


There is danger for the inhabitants of the provinces. When 
once alarmed for our freedom, we know of nothing that could 
check this danger. Distance alone magnifies and exaggerates 
every thing, increases the public uneasiness, misrepresents, and 
gives an envenomed character to facts. 

There is danger for the metropolis. With what feelings would 
a populace, struggling against poverty and the cruel pangs of hun¬ 
ger, see the remains of their scanty food disputed by a fierce 
soldiery ? The presence of troops will excite the populace, lead to 
riots, and produce a general ferment, whilst the very first act of 
violence exercised on the people, under pretence of maintaining 
the public peace, may be the commencement of a horrible series 
of misfortunes. 

There is danger for the troops themselves. French soldiers, 
so near the focus of discontent, and naturally participating in the 
passions and interests of the people, may perchance forget that an 
engagement has made them soldiers, and remember only that 
nature made them men. 

The danger, Sir, threatens that work which it is our first duty 
to make perfect, and which will not be fully successful or really per¬ 
manent, until the people are convinced that it is the offspring of 
freedom. There is, moreover, contagion in the effects of passion. 
—We are but men;—a want of confidence in ourselves, or the 
dread of evincing weakness may carry us far beyond our mark— 
we may be beset with violent and desperate counsels; and reason 
and wisdom deliver not their oracles in the midst of tumult, dis¬ 
order, and bloodshed. 

The danger. Sir, is more dreadful still; and you may judge of 
its extent, by the fears which have brought us to the foot of your 
throne. Great revolutions have resulted from causes of much 
less importance; and the overthrow of more nations than one 


APPENDIX. 


383 


has been announced by signs less ominous and less formida¬ 
ble. 

We beseech you. Sir, not to give credence to those who speak 
contemptuously of the nation, and represent the people to your 
Majesty, as it suits their purpose,—sometimes as rebellious, in¬ 
solent and seditious—at others, as submissive, docile under the 
yoke and ready to bow their heads to receive it. Both are 
equally at variance with truth. 

We are ever ready. Sir, to obey your commands, because 
you issue them in the name of the law ; and our fidelity is as 
unbounded as it is above suspicion. 

We are equally ready to resist the arbitrary commands of 
those who make an undue use of your Majesty’s name, because 
they are enemies to the law. This resistance is imposed upon us 
by our fidelity alone, and we shall always be proud of the re¬ 
proaches cast upon us for our firmness in this our line of duty. 

We conjure you then. Sir, in the name of our country—in 
the name of your own happiness and future fame, to send back 
these soldiers to the quarters whence Your Majesty’s advisers 
induced you to call them. Remove, Sir, we beseech you, this 
artillery intended for the defence of your frontiers ;—and above 
all, send away those foreign troops—those allies whom we pay 
to defend and not to oppress us. Your Majesty does not require 
such troops. Why should a monarch adored by twenty five 
millions of Frenchmen, surround his throne, at great expense, 
with a few thousand foreigners ? 

Let the affection of your subjects. Sir, be your best and 
only guard. The deputies of the nation are called upon to con¬ 
secrate with you the high attributes of royalty, upon the immu¬ 
table basis of popular freedom. But in fulfilling their duty— 
in following the dictates of their reason and their feelings, would 


384 


APPENDIX. 


you expose them to the suspicion of having yielded to fear ? 
Ah! the authority with which every heart spontaneously invests 
you, is alone pure and unmoveable; it is a just return for 
your benefactions, and is the immortal heritage of princes like 
Your Majesty. 


No. II. 

DRAFT OF AN ADDRESS PROPOSED TO BE MADE BY THE 
NATIONAL ASSEMBLY TO THEIR CONSTITUENTS. 

Gentlemen, 

Your deputies to the states-general, too long kept in painful 
inaction, but from motives which you approved, were about 
to commence their proceedings by the only means which seemed 
to them compatible with your rights and interests. 

The majority of the clergy had declared in favor of the 
union; a respectable minority of the nobles evinced the same 
desire, and every thing seemed to announce the happy day which 
was to give birth to the constitution and freedom of France. 

Events with which you are acquainted, have deferred this 
union, and the aristocracy have again the courage to persist in 
a separation, of the danger of which they will but too soon be 
convinced. 

Alarm has been spread but too rapidly among us ; the metro¬ 
polis has been thrown into consternation and even the place in 
which we are now assembled has experienced a commotion, against 
whose effects we have seen precautions taken which, if they 
be considered necessary, are not the less alarming. All this renders 
it incumbent upon us to guard against the misfortune and 



APPENDIX. 385 

disturbances to which, under such extraordinary circumstances, 
the general uneasiness may give rise. 

The revival of the states-general, after so long an interval , the 
agitation hy which it was preceded, the object of this convocation 
so different from the motives which called your ancestors together* ; 
the pretensions of the nobles, their adherence to gothic and 
barbarous laws,—but above all, the truly extraordinary means 
adopted to obtain the King’s interference, have excited a power¬ 
ful feeling throughout the nation; and the whole kingdom is 
in such a state of effervescence that those who would fain use 
violence, when prudence and conciliation are becoming every day 
more necessary, are not only unworthy of being considered as 
Frenchmenf, but deserve to be treated as incendiaries. 

From these motives, gentlemen, we consider it our duty to 
present you with a faithful picture of our real situation, in order 
to caution you against the fears and exaggerations by which in¬ 
judicious zeal or criminal intentions might seek to increase your 
alarm. 

On the day when, with a pomp rather threatening than im¬ 
posing, we were called upon to appear before an absolute and 
severe monarch, instead of the supreme chief of the state, es¬ 
corted, as we could have wished, by his virtues alone,—on that 
very day, we had from his own lips the noblest evidence of his 
vast designs in our favor, and of his truly generous and magna¬ 
nimous intentions. Even the forms least adapted to conci¬ 
liate our minds, shall not make us insensible of the real senti¬ 
ments of our King. However we may lament his erroneous 
opinion of us, we shall never have to reproach ourselves with 

* The words in Italics are extracted from the King’s speech, 
f From the King's speech. 

2 C 


386 


APPENDIX. 


injustice. Woe to those who would represent us as dangerous ! 
We might become so on the day of retribution, but it would be 
to them alone. 

And how could the King’s sentiments excite our fears ? We are, 
it is true, but little acquainted with his designs, but have we not con¬ 
fidence in his wisdom, and is not his own interest at stake ? Are 
not these our securities ? Do the aristocracy ever cease to be 
the real enemies of the throne ? Is it not their sole ambition 
to reduce the public authority to fractions ? Are they not en¬ 
deavouring, by bad laws, to cement their prerogatives, their 
privileges and their usurpations? And is it not an acknow¬ 
ledged truth, that the people require but justice, and the great 
alone seek power? The aristocracy have inflicted the greatest of 
evils upon a long succession of sovereigns, whose very virtues 
they have often rendered doubtful; but truth has at length ar¬ 
rived at the foot of the throne, and the King, who has declared 
himself the father of his people, will disseminate his benefactions 
over the whole community. He will not uphold the titles of 
spoliation which have been but too long respected. It is to 
prejudice, obsession, the respect perhaps which e\en the strong¬ 
est minds sometimes entertain for old customs, and the hope 
of bringing about the union more promptly, that we must at¬ 
tribute the declarations in favor of the separation of the orders, 
of their veto, of feudal rights—those remnants of barbarous ages 
—and of those ruins of feudality which would impair the soliditv, 
beauty and proportions of the edifice we are called upon to raise. 

The history of all ages, and particularly that of our own nation, 
shows us that whatever is true, just, and necessary cannot be 
long withheld on the plea of being illegal, false or dangerous. 
Prejudices wear out, and are ultimately destroyed by discussion. 
Our confidence is therefore firm and tranquil. You will share 


appendix. 


387 


in it, gentlemen, and you will never believe that the persevering 
claims of a great people can be over-ruled by a few particular 
illusions, adopted by a small number becoming daily smaller. You 
will feel that the triumph of public order, when expected to re¬ 
sult from measures of wisdom and prudence, ought not to be 
risked by inconsiderate agitation. It is for you, gentlemen, to 
assist us with your knowledge and counsels, in the necessary 
task we have undertaken. You will every where preserve calm¬ 
ness and moderation ; you will be the promoters of order, subor¬ 
dination, and respect for the law and its ministers; you will repose 
the plenitude of your confidence in the unshaken fidelity of your 
representatives, and you will afford them the most effective 
assistance. 

It is amongst a corrupt and venal class of the community, that 
our enemies will endeavour to excite tumult and insurrection, 
which would only embarrass and delay the settlement of the great 
question. “ Behold the fruits of liberty ! behold the effects of 
democracy!” will they not cease repeating, who are not ashamed 
to represent the people as a furious herd, dangerous when unfet¬ 
tered;—who feign not to know that this same people, always calm 
and measured when they are truly free, are never violent 
and unruly, except in constitutions which degrade in order to 
render them despicable. How unfortunately numerous are those 
cruel men, who, indifferent to the fate of the people, whom they 
always make the victims of their rashness, create events whose 
infallible consequence is to strengthen the hands of authority, 
which, when preceded by terror, is always followed by servitude ! 
Alas! how fatal to liberty are the acts of those who endeavour to 
maintain it by agitation and revolt! Do they not perceive that 
they increase the precautions from which the fetters of the people 

2 c 2 


388 


APPENDIX. 


are forged ? that they arm calumny with a pretence at least— 
terrify pusillanimous minds, and bring into action those incen¬ 
diaries, who, having nothing to lose, become auxiliaries but to 
prove themselves dangerous enemies ? 

The number of our enemies, gentlemen, is greatly exaggerated. 
Many who are not of our way of thinking, deserve not this odious 
title. Facts often follow words, and enmity too readily imputed 
gives rise to real hostility. We have fellow-citizens, who, like 
us, are seeking the public good, but expect to find it in a different 
road from that which we follow. These individuals, borne away 
upon the stream of inveterate prejudice arising from education 
and early habits, have not strength of mind enough to strive 
against the current which carries them along. Seeing us in a 
new situation, they fancy that our pretensions will become exag¬ 
gerated ; impressed as they are with the idea that liberty is only 
a pretence for licentiousness, they are in alarm for the safety of 
their property. Let us treat all these men with respect and 
kindness; pity some, give others time to discover their error, 
undeceive all, and not change into the quarrels of self-love or the 
war of factions, those differences of opinion inseparable from the 
weakness of the human mind, and from the multitude of aspects 
presented by questions so complicated, whose very diversity is 
useful to the public weal inasmuch as it leads to discussion and 
minute investigation. 

Already, by peaceable means, have we made many valuable con¬ 
verts. There passes not a day which brings not into our ranks some 
one who had before kept from us. There passes not a day on which 
the horizon of truth does not widen, and the dawn of reason break 
upon the minds of some who have hitherto been dazzled rather 
than enlightened by its strong glare. What would have been * 


APPENDIX. 


389 


the consequence, if, in despair of the power of truth, we had cast off 
for ever those whom in vain we called upon to join us. We should 
have destroyed even the friends we possess among the two first 
orders of our fellow citizens; and should perhaps have raised an 
insuperable bar to a union so advantageous to France, as that 
which is now the object of our contemplation. But our present 
being a pledge of our future moderation, they must come to the 
conclusion that our acts are guided by justice ; and it is in their 
name as well as our own that we recommend to you that mode¬ 
ration of which we have already reaped the fruits. 

How glorious will it be for us and for the country, if this great 
revolution cost humanity neither crime nor tears! How often 
have the smallest states been unable to acquire even the shadow 
of liberty, except by sacrificing the blood of their most valuable 
citizens ? A neighbouring nation, too vain of its constitution, 
and despising the defects of ours, suffered from convulsions and 
civil wars during more than a century, before her laws were 
consolidated. America herself, whose tutelary genius seems now 
to reward us for the freedom which she owes to us, did not enjoy 
this inestimable blessing until she had encountered dreadful re¬ 
verses and doubtful and bloody contests. But we, gentlemen, 
shall see a similar revolution brought about among us by the con¬ 
currence only of wisdom with patriotism ! Our contests are 
simple discussions, our enemies excusable prejudices, our victories 
not cruel, and our triumphs shall call forth the blessings of those 
who are last subjugated. History but too often records human 
actions, more suited to the ferocity of wild beasts than to man; 
and here and there she notices a hero ; but we may be allowed to 
hope that we are beginning an era in the history of mankind, as 
* brothers, born for the mutual happiness of each other, who agree 
even in their differences ; for their object is the same, and their 


390 


APPENDIX. 


means only of pursuing it, different. Woe to him who would 
recklessly corrupt so pure a revolution, and trust the fate of 
France to the chance of uncertain events, when its destinies are 
not doubtful—if we suffer ourselves to be guided by justice and 
reason. 

When we consider the happiness which twenty-five millions 
of human beings must derive from a legal constitution, substituted 
for ministerial caprice, from unanimity of will, wisdom in legisla¬ 
tion, reform of abuses, decrease of taxation, economy in finances, 
moderation in punishments, consistency in the courts of justice, 
the abolition of a host of feudal rights which cramp industry and 
mutilate the human faculties; from that great system of liberty, 
in short, which, reposing upon the municipalities open to free elec¬ 
tion, gradually raises itself to the provincial governments, and 
ultimately receives its perfection from the annual return of the 
states-general;—when we consider all the happy consequences of 
the restoration of this vast empire, we cannot but feel that it 
would be the blackest of crimes against humanity, to oppose the 
destinies of our nation, to push it back into the abyss and keep 
it down with the weight of the chains which it wore for so many 
ages. Such a misfortune could not occur except from those cala¬ 
mities always attendant upon the tumult, licentiousness, crimes 
and abominations of civil war. Our fate depends upon prudence ; 
and violence alone could throw doubt upon, or perhaps annihilate 
that freedom which reason has promised us. 

Such are our sentiments, gentlemen; it was our duty to make 
them known to you, that we might be honored by their con¬ 
formity with yours. It was important to convince you that in 
pursuing our great patriotic object, we did not deviate from the 
right path. 

Such as you knew us when you entrusted your best interests 


APPENDIX. 


391 


to our keeping, such shall we ever remain, strengthened in the 
resolution of co-operating with our monarch, not in measures of 
only transient advantage, but in framing the constitution of the 
kingdom. We are determined that each of our fellow-citizens, to 
whatever class he belongs, shall enjoy the innumerable benefits of 
nature and freedom; that the suffering inhabitants of the country 
shall be relieved, a remedy applied to the discouragement by 
which poverty stifles virtue and industry, and our laws, the same 
for all ranks and orders, made our common safeguard and protec¬ 
tion. We shall shew ourselves to be not less inaccessible to the 
projects of personal ambition than to the debasement of fear. 
We ardently wish for concord, but will never purchase it with the 
rights of the people. The only reward we ask for our labours, 
is to see all the children of this immense country unite in the 
same sentiments, happy in the general happiness, and cherishing 
their common father, whose reign is destined to be the era of the 
regeneration of France. 


No. III. 

ADDRESS TO THE CONSTITUENTS. 

The deputies who form the national assembly, suspend, for 
a while, their proceedings, in order to make known the wants of 
the state to their constituents, and, in the name of the country in 
danger, call upon them for their patriotic co-operation. 

We should betray the interests you have confided to us, did we 
conceal from you that the nation is now on the eve of either 
rising to a glorious destiny or sinking into an abyss of misery. 



392 


APPENDIX. 


A great revolution, which, a few months since, appeared 
chimerical, has just been effected in the midst of us all; but its 
progress having been accelerated by events upon which no human 
foresight could calculate, it has, by its impetuosity, dragged down 
with it the whole fabric of the ancient system of government, and 
without giving us time to prop up those parts which it might have 
been advantageous to preserve, or replacing those which it was 
right to destroy, it has suddenly surrounded us with a huge 
heap of ruins. 

In vain have our exertions supported the government. It 
has become completely powerless. The public revenue has dis¬ 
appeared, and credit cannot raise its head at a period when there 
is perhaps more to fear than to hope. In letting itself down, this 
main-spring of social strength has relaxed all around it; men and 
things, resolution, courage, and even virtue. If your assistance 
restore not rapidly the body politic to life, this most admirable 
revolution will be lost ere it be complete; it will return to chaos, 
whence so many noble works have brought it forth, and they who 
must ever preserve the invincible love of freedom, will not even 
leave to bad citizens the degrading consolation of a return ta 
slavery. 

Ever since your deputies have, by a just and necessary union, 
destroyed all rivalry and clashing of interests, the national 
assembly has not ceased its exertions in framing a code of laws 
applicable to all classes and conditions, and the safeguard of all. 
It has repaired grievous errors, broken the bonds of feudal 
servitude which degraded humanity, diffused joy and hope through 
the hearts of our husbandmen—those creditors of the soil and of 
nature so long discouraged and branded with shame—re-esta¬ 
blished that equality between Frenchmen, so long disavowed— 
consisting in a common right to serve the state, enjoy its protec- 


APPENDIX. 


393 


tion, and deserve its favours; in short, it is gradually raising upon 
the unchangeable basis of the imprescriptible rights of man, a 
constitution mild as nature, lasting as justice, and whose imper¬ 
fections, arising from the inexperience of its authors, may be 
easily amended. 

We have had to contend against the inveterate prejudices of 
ages, and much uncertainty always attends great political changes* 
Our successors will be enlightened by our experience, for we have 
been obliged to tread in a new path with only a glimmering light 
of the principles which were to guide us. They will proceed peace¬ 
ably, for we shall have born the brunt of the tempest. They 
will know their rights and the limits of every power in the state; 
for we shall have recovered the one and fixed the other. They 
will consolidate our work, and surpass us;—this will be our 
reward. Who now would dare assign a term to the greatness 
of France ? Who would not, on the contrary, elevate its pros¬ 
pects, and glory in being one of its citizens ? 

Nevertheless, the state of our finances is such that our social 
edifice threatens to fall before we can consolidate it. The failure 
of the revenue has diminished the currency of the realm ; a host 
of circumstances has drained the kingdom of the precious metals, 
and all sources of credit are dried upthe general circulation 
is on the eve of stoppage, and if your patriotism assist not the 
government in its finances—which embraces every thing, army, 
navy, subsistence, arts, commerce, agriculture and national 
debts—France will be rapidly precipitated towards a horrible ca¬ 
tastrophe, and will receive no laws save from disorder and 
anarchy!.... 

Freedom will have shone upon us but an instant, to disappear 
for ever, leaving us the bitter consciousness that we are unworthy 
of her ! To our own eternal shame, and to the conviction of the 



394 


APPENDIX. 


whole universe, we shall owe our evils solely to ourselves. With 
so fertile a soil, so fruitful an industry, so flourishing a 
trade, and such extensive means of prosperity, the embarrass¬ 
ments in our finances are comparatively trifling. The whole of 
our present wants would scarcely cover the expenses of a war 
campaign; and is not our liberty much more precious than those 
mad struggles in which even our victories have been fatal ? 

The present crisis once past, it will be easy to better the con¬ 
dition of the people; and no more burthens need be imposed 
upon them. Reductions which will not reach luxury and opu¬ 
lence, reforms which will not affect the fortunes of any, easy 
conversions of imposts, and an equal distribution of taxes, will, 
by the equilibrium of receipts and disbursements, establish a 
permanent order of things; and this consolatory prospect is 
formed upon exact calculations— upon real and well-known 
objects. On this occasion hope is susceptible of demonstration, 
because the imagination is rendered subservient to arithmetic. 

But to meet our actual wants, restore motion to the machinery 
of government, and cover for this year and the next, the 
160,000,000 of extraordinary expenditure—the minister of finance 
proposes, as a means which, in this emergency, may save the 
monarchy, a contribution proportionate to the income of each 
citizen. 

Pressed between the necessity of providing immediately for the 
wants of the state, and the impossibility of deeply investigating 
the plan proposed by the minister, in so limited a time, we have 
refrained from long and doubtful discussions—and seeing nothing 
in the ministers’ proposal derogatory from our duty, we have con¬ 
fidently adopted it, in the persuasion that you would do the 
same. The general affection of the nation towards the author 
of this plan, seems to us the pledge of its success, and we have 


APPENDIX. 


395 


trusted to the ministers’ long experience as a surer guide than 
new speculations. 

The fixation of the amount of their several incomes is left to 
the conscience of the citizens themselves; thus, the success of 
the measure depends solely upon their patriotism, and we are 
therefore warranted in entertaining no doubt of such success. 

When a nation ascends from the depths of servitude to the 
glorious regions of freedom—when policy is about to concur with 
nature in the immense developement of its high destinies;—shall 
vile passions oppose its grandeur—or egotism arrest its flight ? 
Is the safety of the state of less weight than a personal contri¬ 
bution ? 

No, such an error cannot exist;—the passions themselves 
yield not to such base calculations. If the revolution, which has 
given us a country, has left some Frenchmen indifferent, it will 
be their interest, to maintain at all events, the tranquillity of the 
kingdom, as the only pledge of their personal safety. For it is 
certainly not in a general tumult—in the degradation of public 
authority—when thousands of indigent citizens driven from their 
work, and their means of subsistence, shall claim the sterile com¬ 
miseration of their brethren — when armies shall be dissolved 
into wandering bands armed with swords and irritated by hunger; 
—when property shall be threatened, lives no longer safe* and 
grief and terror upon the threshold of every doorit is not in 
such a state of society that the egotist can enjoy the mite he has 
refused to contribute for the wants of his country. The only diffe¬ 
rence in his fate, in the common calamity, from that of his fellow- 
citizens, would be deserved opprobrium; and in his bosom, 
unavailing remorse. 

What recent proofs have we not had of that public spirit which 
places success beyond a doubt. With what rapidity was that na- 


396 


APPENDIX. 






tional militia, were those legions of armed citizens formed, for the 
defence of the states, the preservation of public peace, and due ex¬ 
ecution of the laws! A generous emulation pervaded the whole 
kingdom. Towns, cities, provinces, all considered their privileges 
as odious distinctions ; and aspired to the honor of sacrificing them 
to enrich their country. You well know, that there was not time 
to draw up a separate decree for each sacrifice, which a truly pure 
and patriotic sentiment dictated to all classes of citizens, who vo¬ 
luntarily restored to the great family, that which was exclusively 
enjoyed by the few to the prejudice of the many. 

Patriotic gifts have been singularly multiplied during the pre¬ 
sent crisis in the finances. The most noble examples have ema¬ 
nated from the throne, whose majesty is elevated by the virtue of 
the Prince who sits upon it. O, Prince, so justly beloved by your 
people! King, honest man, and ^ood citizen! You glanced at the 
magnificence which surrounded you, and the riches of ostentation 
were forthwith converted into national resources ! By foregoing the 
embellishments of luxury, your royal dignity received new splendour; 
and while the affection of your people makes them murmur at your 
privations, their sensibility applauds your noble courage, and their 
generosity will return your benefactions, as you wish them to be 
returned, by imitating your virtue and affording you the delight 
of having guided them through the difficult paths of public 
sacrifice. 

How vast is the wealth, which ostentation and vanity have 
made their prey, and which might become the active agent of 
prosperity! To what an extent might individual economy concur 
with the most noble views, in restoring happiness to the kingdom ! 
The immense riches accumulated by the piety of our forefathers 
for the service of the altar, would not change their religious 
destination, by being brought from their obscurity, and devoted 


APPENDIX. 


397 


to the public service! “ These are the hoards which I collected 

in the days of prosperity,” says our holy religion; “ I add them 
to the general mass in the present times of public calamity. I 
required them not; no borrowed splendour can add to my great¬ 
ness. It was for you, and for the state, that I levied this tribute 
upon the piety of your ancestors.” 

Oh! who would reject such examples as these ? How favorable 
is the present moment for the developement of our resources, and 
for claiming assistance from all parts of the empire ! Let us pre¬ 
vent the opprobrium of violating our most sacred engagements which 
would prove a foul blot upon the infancy of our freedom. Let us pre¬ 
vent those dreadful shocks which, by overthrowing the most solid 
institutions, would affect far and near, the fortune of all classes of 
citizens, and present,throughout the kingdom, the sad spectacle of a 
disgraceful ruin. How do they deceive themselves who, at a dis¬ 
tance from the metropolis, consider not the public faith, either in its 
inseparable connexion with the national prosperity, or as the primary 
condition of our social compact! Do they who pronounce the in¬ 
famous word bankruptcy, desire that we should form a community 
of wild beasts, instead of equitable and free men ? What 
Frenchmen would dare look upon one of his unfortunate brethren, 
if his conscience should whisper to him that he had contributed his 
share towards poisoning the existence of millions of his fellow crea¬ 
tures ? Should we be any longer that nation whose very ene¬ 
mies grant us the pride of honour, if foreigners could degrade us 
with the title of BANKRUPT NATION, and accuse us of having 
assumed our freedom and our strength, only to commit crimes at 
which, even despotism herself would shudder ? 

Our protesting that our execrable crime was not premeditated, 
would avail us nothing. The cries of our victims disseminated all 
over Europe, would be a louder, and a more effective protesta- 


398 


APPENDIX. 


tion than ours. We must act without loss of time;—prompt, effi¬ 
cacious, and certain measures must be adopted; and that cloud 
must disappear, which has been so long suspended over our heads, 
and, from one end of Europe to the other, has thrown consternation 
into the minds of the creditors of France;—for it may, at length, 
become more fatal to our national resources, than the dreadful 
scourge which has ravaged our provinces. 

What courage would the adoption of this plan give us in the 
functions you have confided to our zeal! And how could we pro¬ 
ceed with safety, in the constitution of a state whose very existence 
is in danger ? We promised, nay, we solemnly swore to save the 
country; judge then of our anguish, when we fear that it will 
perish in our hands. A momentary sacrifice is all that is re¬ 
quired ; but it must be frankly made to the public good, and not 
to the depredations of cupidity. And is this slight expiation of 
the faults and errors of the period marked by our political servi¬ 
tude, beyond our courage ? God forbid! Let us remember the 
price paid for freedom, by every people who have showed them¬ 
selves worthy of it. Torrents of blood, lengthened misfortunes, 
and dreadful civil wars, have every where marked her birth. 
She only requires of us a pecuniary sacrifice; and this vulgar 
offering is not a gift that will impoverish us;—for she will return 
to enrich us, and shine upon our cities and our fields to increase 
their glory and prosperity. 


APPENDIX. 


399 


No. IV. 

Thanks of an Artisan to the Count de Mirabeau, on his 
motion against the eligibility of insolvent debtors to the legislative 
assembly, and that of their children , unless the latter pay the virile 
portion of their father's debts . 

Monsieur le Comte, 

I have neither great wit nor a fine style. All that is very com¬ 
mon with you, and you will easily dispense with it in a poor ar¬ 
tisan. But I have some judgment,—at least I think so—a feeling of 
pure patriotism, and a lively and grateful heart. These are my 
claims to your attention, and I am sure they will be admitted by 
so good a citizen. 

Ah ! Monsieur le Comte, what an excellent law you have pro¬ 
posed ! What a wise decree you have obtained from the national 
assembly! It is the rallying of honest men against rogues. May 
Heaven bless you, gentlemen! You are the defenders of duped 
and confiding men, the scourge of insolvent dishonesty, and the 
restorers of integrity, honor, and filial piety. 

Though this effusion is excited in my mind by gratitude, the 
latter may, perhaps, be attended with a little resentment. And 
how can I help it ? I was ruined by a gentleman ;—I had worked 
for him several years, paid workmen to serve him, and even made 
advances to procure him other works in the line of my calling. I 
wanted to set up my son, and portion my daughter; and I de¬ 
pended upon this sum, so justly due to me, for the settlement of 


400 


APPENDIX. 


my children, and the payment of a small stock in trade, which I 
had bought. On the eve of receiving this money, as I thought, 
I found that my debtor had become insolvent, and fled; and I thus 
lost, in an instant, the advances I had made, and the fruit of my 
long labour. 

Alas! Sir; what brought on the disaster of this senseless man, 
was precisely that which deceived me as to his opulence. He 
had a hotel in town, a house in the country, fine clothes, footmen, 
and lackeys;—I was dazzled at this, and my confidence 
was without bounds. A numerous and elegant family seemed 
to answer for the prudence of its chief; hut I knew not that 
the children and valets were the masters^ After the reverse, 
nothing was talked of but robbery, dissipation, imprudence, 
debts contracted by the children, and paid off several times 
to usurers who made a noise;—whilst poor locksmiths, and 
joiners, and tailors, did not presume to go and claim the fruit of 
their labour. It is a very lamentable thing for a creditor, Mon¬ 
sieur le Comte, to want bread, because his debtor has squandered 
millions; but there is something still more disgusting to an honest 
man—it is to see impudence the companion of knavery, and to en¬ 
counter the disdain of despicable persons. 

One of the sons of this gentleman who dragged me with 
him into ruin, is returned to Paris. He is married and cuts a 
figure; the means by which he does so, may easily be guessed. 
On being told of this, I experienced greater indignation than 
hope ; and I was right. I gained admittance to his anti-chamber? 
but his people knew not what I meant; my claims seemed 
to be upon their master’s father and not upon him. As for the 
gentleman himself, he did not choose to see or hear me, nor 
would he honour his name by the least attention to a 
domestic debt. After this, his door was shut against me. I 


APPENDIX. 


401 


presented myself at it one day just as he was going out, and 
encountered the most dastardly glance that ever audacious scoun¬ 
drel repulsed an honest man with. 

Your pardon, Monsieur le Comte, for giving you all these 
particulars; you see my drift;—but I must repeat it again, for 
it relieves me. Ah ! what an excellent decree, what a conso¬ 
latory law does the nation owe you! Thus is my gentleman, in 
spite of his noble birth, fallen below his locksmith, because the 
latter pays his debts, and the gentleman does not. And here is 
his worthy son reduced, in spite of his ostentation and insolence, 
to the same level with his unhappy father, whose ruin he 
hastened. Both are less than citizens, because they have for¬ 
feited the privileges of citizens ; consequently they are less than 
I, whom they have despoiled. I hope to assist at the primary 
assemblies ; my children will perhaps become electors, and whilst 
we are performing such patriotic duties, it will be the turn of 
these magnificent debtors to respect us. 

The law, it is true, gives me no action against the son of 
my debtor; but the tribunal of public opinion brings the action 
for me. This is a new security for debts, which are thus placed 
under the safe-guard of public honor. 

You cannot. Monsieur le Comte, fully appreciate the good 
you have done. Have you been ruined like me, by a haughty 
and pityless debtor ? Do you enjoy the pleasure of revenge by 
means so unforeseen, so sure, and so terrible ? Are you aware 
of the proud stateliness of certain lords when they condescend to 
get into a poor devil’s debt ? Have you an idea of the disgust and 
rebuffs they make him suffer before he can obtain the charity of 
a little justice ? 

Well, sir, your law will remedy all this. The frightful 

disgrace attached to insolvency, by giving a greater importance 

2 D 


402 


APPENDIX. 


to order and economy, will bring the debtor and creditor closer 
together, make each sensible of his engagements, prevent any 
difficulties in their fulfilment, and, by placing the honor of the 
insolvent debtor in the hands of his creditors, make him behave 
to them beforehand with rectitude and honesty. 

Is not that too common habit of not paying one’s debts, a 
species of voluntary bankruptcy ;—that constant putting off, to a 
future day, of shop-keepers, workmen, and bearers of bills—or 
having them thrust out of doors by porters, or valets; and 
placing them in the cruel alternative either of losing their cus¬ 
tomer if they press for payment, or of being never paid if they 
do not press. I think, sir, that as the loss of certain political 
rights will cast a stigma upon an insolvent debtor, even in the 
person of his children, it will no longer be an honor not to pay 
one’s debts. All that petty inattention to promises which happens 
every day, will soon be included in the moral effect of the new 
law against bankrupts. 

And besides, Monsieur le Comte, (pardon me, if I go out of my 
depth in penetrating the consequences of your decree; but since 
the national assembly exists, we have acquired a new senses— 
the moral and political taste), and besides, it will be a powerful 
corrector of popular opinion. The functions of citizens will be 
confided, not to birth, title, intrigue and ambition; but to 
faithful industry, honest foresight and propriety of conduct. The 
obscure honest man will enjoy the privileges which the titled 
man will have lost, if he breaks his faith. 

And public offices. Monsieur le Comte ; and the appointments 
in the municipality and magistracy ; and the different gradations 
by which an individual raises himself from a simple citizen to be 
a representative of the nation ! what a noble and true lustre will 
not each of these gradations of rank acquire in addition ? when 


APPENDIX. 


403 


integrity and good faith stand sentinel at the entrance of the 
political temple, to repulse all who violate their precepts, to be 
an honest man will become a primary object of ambition; and 
the first pride of the greater and lesser magistracy will be to have 
no members but honest men. 

Your ideas, on this subject, have doubtless anticipated mine. 
We can appreciate the judgment, by the judge—the law, by the 
legislator. The best way to be well governed is to make virtue 
a title of eligibility for your governors ; for by perfecting the in¬ 
strument, you render the work more perfect;—and a public man 
is the more attached to his functions, and studies the more to 
make them useful and respectable, when they are conferred 
upon him as the reward of good morals and propriety of conduct. 

Perhaps, Monsieur le Comte, you may think me an enthu¬ 
siast. Pray excuse this soft delirium of a patriotic citizen. I 
think that every thing is connected in morality and legislation, 
as in nature. Evil produces evil, and good is the source of 
good; therefore the latter must be done for the sake not only 
of itself, but of all the advantages to which it leads. I can fancy, 
in this decree, by which I am so much delighted, a regenerating 
principle of the national morals. When a law takes into consi¬ 
deration the honesty of a citizen—obliges him to make his first 
progress in his political career, by a profession of purity, and 
sows early in his heart the goodly seeds of virtue, and the noble 
ambition of public esteem—there are no good effects to which it 
may not lead. You were right, sir, in asserting that it is a 
law which does honor to the nation; but the nation, also ren¬ 
ders the honor due to the founders of such a law. 

Let us now hope, sir, that every citizen will be penetrated 
with that public spirit which animates our legislators, and has 
produced so celebrated a statute. In our immense cities, every 


2 d 2 


404 


APPENDIX. 


thing .is fugitive and without character; there is no lasting im¬ 
pression, and the strongest laws leave no mark;—but in our 
provinces, in our small municipalities—where each individual is 
under the eye of the whole community, and where the moral 
feeling is extremely excitable, and that of honor very irritable— 
your law will do wonders. There it is that its good effects will 
serve as edifying examples to our cities. Fewer ruined nobles 
will be there seen, in future, insulting the misery they have 
caused; poor artisans will be able to pay for their little stock 
iu trade, to set up their sons, and to portion off their daughters. 
They will be more fortunate than I; but they will not feel greater 
admiration for their illustrious fellow-citizen, whose exertions for 
our happiness and prosperity are unbounded. 

I am, with respect. 

Monsieur le Comte, 

Your very humble servant, 

l^RKv'y' 


END OP THE APPENDIX. 


LONDON: 

PRINTED BY G. SCHULZE, 13, POLAND STREET. 























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